


The journey back home

by ElnaK



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Everybody Lives, Gen, Hogwarts sixth years, Marauders' Era, elf!Sirius, except those who die, oh well, skin-changer!Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElnaK/pseuds/ElnaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At sixteen years old, Sirius meddles with a family heirloom that sends him, Remus and James into another world, Arda, as Bilbo Baggins is for the first time on his way to Rivendell. The three teenage wizards will have to survive and live by a set of rules that are different from what they know... and that includes magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trollshaws

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so... I should be working on Unclaimed Darkness, for I am late, but I was stuck, so I thought, what if I try to release some pressure by writing about Sirius but in another story? I have this one planned for quite a few months after all...  
> I'll try to update about once a month, maybe more often.

Sirius, Remus and James were staring suspiciously at the very large black gem that the young Black had nicked away from Black Manor the last time he had visited his grandfather.

True, Arcturus had apparently known it all along, but he had not said anything to Sirius' parents. It wouldn't have been good, considering the young wizard had run away from home, and despite that, his grandfather hadn't changed his position towards Sirius. Not that he cared about still being the second heir to the House of Black. But it was better, for his safety, that Arcturus still backed him. It wouldn't do, to anger the Head of the family.

So, obviously, the teenager had taken that as an autorisation to do whatever he wanted with it. Well, as long as he brought it back next time he'd see his grandfather. Which meant that he couldn't do just anything he wanted with the stone. For example, he couldn't sell it. Or give it to somebody. Or destroy it in some way. Still, it let him with a lot of possibilities.

The three teenage wizards were for now in one of their secret hideouts in Hogwarts. It was a sunday with not much sun, which didn't meant that it had to be a sunday with not much fun. The Marauders, minus Peter who was still sleeping in the dorm, and that despite their best efforts, they hadn't been able to wake up, the Marauders were searching for an idea for a new prank.

Or, rather, James and Sirius were, while Remus reluctantly gave them his point of view as to why they really didn't want to turn McGonagall's desk into anything at all during class, even if the stern professor would certainly be impressed with their wandwork. Impressed or not, McGonagall wouldn't shy away from taking at least twenty points each. Fifty points, if, as James had suggested, they were to morph her desk into a cat tree.

So, as they were stuck, Sirius had busied himself with the precious gem he had taken from Black Manor. After a while, they stopped thinking about pranks altogether, watching the stone, that seemed to absorb any light around it.

Remus took a step back, eyeing the gem warily.

“You are sure that your grandfather won't try and turn you into a toad for having taken this?”

Sirius arched an eyebrow, smirking.

“I'd still be the most handsome of us all, even as a toad, don't worry.”

The werewolf scowled, astonished by his friend's lack of common sense. James, that had meanwhile taken the precious stone in his hands, looking at it under every angle, whistled.

“That's one big stone. Where did you family get it?”

The gem was a marquise-shaped black diamond, long of two inches and large of almost one inch. It had the exact same shape as the little black diamond on the Black Lord's ring, Sirius mused.

“Not sure. We had it even before we became nobles. Actually, James, you've seen my grandfather's lordship ring, haven't you?”

The other wizard shrugged. Yes, he had seen Arcturus Black once or twice, being the heir to the House of Potter and all that, but he hadn't given it much thought at the time. He technically knew that every wizarding Lord in Great Britain had a ring of lordship with their family crest on it. His father had one. It didn't mean that he had actually seen the Blacks'. He supposed it was made of gold, with the crows and everything that identified the House of Black.

Sirius rolled his eyes, and advanced his hand for the two others to see.

As his grandfather had refused to follow his parents' choice, Sirius was still a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. In fact, he was the second heir to the House, after his father. So, he still had the family ring.

Unlike the other noble families', it was made of silver, thin, and with intricate celtic design on both side of the family crest.

“Imagine the same ring, but with a black diamond on it instead of the crest.”

James frowned, wondering why the Blacks didn't have a normal ring. He silently pointed at the large gem that was still in his hand.

Sirius nodded.

“Yes, the same, but smaller, obviously. Now, there are two things that come from even before we can remember, in the House of Black. Our ring of lordship is not the same as the other Houses', because my ancestors refused to have it changed. That ring, and this stone, both come from an ancient time. The story says we had it two millenia and a half ago, when the ancestor to the House of Darke came to England. It symbolize our history and longevity, in a way, so figure, all the blood purists in the family simply adore it.”

James cocked an eyebrow at his friend's sarcasm, but he was too puzzled and curious to make a comment.

Remus, who hadn't said a word since Sirius' joke, took the stone from James' hands carefully. There was something about it that made him ill-at-ease.

“Do you think it could be jinxed?”

The question took Sirius back to the stone from his easy bantering with James.

“Why do you ask?”

The look in his eyes was sharp, and Remus certainly didn't miss it. Both were painfully aware of the Blacks' fondness with jinxing, or sometimes worse, cursing their possessions. Just in case someone would want to steal their belongings, you know. After all, it wasn't as if they were awfully rich. One stolen silver spoon would surely be their undoing.

“I don't know, Sirius... It's just, when I look at it, it's as if there was some magic in it, and I can feel it, somehow.”

The young werewolf bit his lip, looking away.

“Then again, it could also be that I'm still feeling unwell. The full moon ended only two days ago...”

Both James and Sirius tried hard not to look too pitifully at their friend. Remus didn't really care for pity. Though, as he had told them many times already, they just couldn't help feeling pity for him, and he understood that. Just this full moon, he had clawed at his own throat, and he had broken his left ankle in the agony of turning back to human form. No one in Hogwarts knew better than he did the taste of Skelegro, and it certainly wasn't a taste anyone would want to remember.

Coughing awkwardly, Sirius reached to take back the black diamond, watching it doubtfully.

So far, he hadn't been turned into a toad, he hadn't bleed to death, and he hadn't been swept away to another time or another world. It seemed that the black stone was nothing more than that, a black stone. Alright, a very expensive black stone with shiny facets, but a black stone nonetheless. The most suspicious thing about the gem was that the shiny facets seemed to be shining darkly, somehow, as if the diamond attracted darkness instead of reflecting light.

Maybe that was it, the magic Remus could feel on the stone. Just some kind of spell to make the diamond feel ominously dark. The teenager wouldn't put it past the Blacks, to make something like that, only to creep the hell out of anyone who would take something that was theirs.

Sirius brought his hand in the light, to see better.

“You must be imagining things, Moony. I have yet to be eaten alive by that black diamond, so... Ouch!”

A clear sound startled both Remus and James.

Two sets of alarmed eyes followed Sirius' gaze to the diamond, that had fallen to the floor. There was something that looked suspiciously like drops of blood on it. They looked back at their friend, only to discover that he had somehow managed to cut his forefinger on a edge of the stone. James rolled his eyes, wondering how the oh-so-perfect Sirius Black had achieved that feat.

Remus, on the other end, stared intently at the gem, as did Sirius. When James noticed that, he looked at the diamond again, and found it glimmering a dark mist.

“So much for it not being jinxed... Wait a minute, I think I have a book on curses in my bag.”

The two other teenagers waited for James to find what he was looking for in his bag, unwilling to get too close to the black gem.

Or rather, Remus did his best to keep Sirius from picking the thing back, as he had doubts about the nature of the gem, and his friend was simply unconcerned with everything that concerned blood. Hell, if it hadn't needed to kill a few people to do that, Sirius would walk into an actual blood bath without hesitation. A blood bath, in a Élisabeth Báthory fashion.

Two drops of his own blood on a diamond? Nothing at all!

James was tangled into his invisibility cloak, and how he ended up like that while searching for a book will remain a mystery, when Sirius finally managed to get the black stone back, to Remus' utter dismay.

When Sirius held the diamond once again, he felt something quite marveling happen.

He looked at the stone, wide-eyed, as he felt it connect with his magic.

Remus, eyes fixed on his friend and his black diamond, nudged at a half-invisible James, who made a dumbfounded “Uh?”-sound when he looked up from the knot that had, inexplicably, he swore, appeared between his cloak and his shirt.

A consciousness awoke in the stone, or so it seemed to be to Sirius, as he heard, or, truly, felt a voice, that he was the only one to perceive.

“ _Sirius Black, of the children of Halóno, and a twin-born, at that! Long has it been, that your kind has called for our help. But what do you wish for, winyamo? Do you perhaps, unlike your ancestor who had once fled home, do you perhaps wish to go back home?”_

Sirius stared at the stone, and for one moment, one single second, he felt that yes, he wanted to go home, he wanted it so badly, that he wouldn't even question this urge to go home.

This single second of certainty, however, was enough of an answer for whatever it was that the stone had served as a connection to.

The black diamond glowed more strongly than ever, Remus and James reached for their friend, all lights in the room disappeared for an instant, and the next, the teenagers weren't there anymore.

There, in Hogwarts, that is.

They were “there”, obviously. They couldn't have simply been wiped out of existence. The only thing was that, now, they weren't in the same “there” as they had been only moments before.

In fact, they weren't on Earth anymore.

Not that Earth, at least.

Another Earth, maybe, one with another set of rules, both natural and societal.

One Earth that wasn't yet to be called Earth, but that existed nonetheless, in another reality, perhaps, in another song of the One who had created all worlds and all dreams.

Arda.

Somewhere not so far away from where Sirius, James and Remus landed, a mighty wizard clad in grey but with a blue pointed hat arched an eyebrow, surprised at the strange warmth he had just felt in his chest. Had he not known any better, he'd have thought that the Valar had just interfered directly with Middle Earth's fate.

A hobbit, who was mounted on a pony and who traveled next to the mighty wizard and his mighty horse, saw the eyebrow move, and wondered what could have possibly resulted into this peculiar motion of one eyebrow. Poor hobbit, who had yet to meet so many people with intriguing eyebrows, and would forever remember how those had influenced his life! The people, of course, not the eyebrows.

But for now, let's be concerned over the fate of one Sirius Black, one James Potter and one Remus Lupin.

Each of them were at this very instant unconscious on the ground of a forest. If they had been awake, they would surely have seen trees to the west, to the north, to the east, and, obviously, to the south. In other words, they wouldn't have known in the least where they had landed.

Since they were unconscious, it in fact didn't matter much.

As it was, the three teenagers were somewhere in what would later be called the Trollshaws. Fortunately for them, no troll was close enough to just stumble upon them, and, even more fortunately, it was daytime. Of course, such a thing wouldn't last, as time passed, and so night would take over, and then, the trolls would be able to come out of their cave, and maybe they would find three very appetizing youngsters.

James was the first one to wake up.

The young wizard blinked, once, twice, thrice, before deciding that even if he blinked a fourth time, it wouldn't change the fact that all he could see now were trees.

James scratched behind his ear, wondering...

These weren't the trees of the Forbidden Forest, that, although its name mirrored its status to students like himself, he knew pretty well. The Forbidden Forest was darker than this.

And, he realized, even if he had been in the Forbidden Forest, it didn't change the fact that he had actually changed location without even being aware of it.

James quickly checked that he hadn't lost a limb or anything during the time he hadn't been conscious, just to be sure. Then he stood up, and wavered to the unconscious form of Remus. Maybe he should have looked for Sirius first, since he had been the one to hold the diamond when it had all happened, whatever “it” was. But the werewolf was nearer, and Sirius hadn't turned into a cursed wolf two nights before, so he had to be in better shape. Or at least, James hoped so.

The teenager almost tripped on Remus, when he tried to sit back down. His head was spinning.

James shook gently his friend's shoulder.

“Remus.”

The werewolf didn't move an inch.

“Moony.”

Still nothing.

“Remus!!!”

“Let him sleep, for Merlin's sake!”

James turned around to see a disgruntled Sirius, whose ink black hair was falling, orderly so of course, over his face. His comment suggested that the long haired youth had yet to register that they weren't in their dorm, and James wasn't trying to get Remus to wake up at an ungodly hour.

Sirius moved a strand of hair behind his ear, and as he did so, his sense of touch registered that something was amiss. His brain, however, failed to do so.

The long haired teenager looked up, over the trees, and squinted.

“What time is it?”

It was definitely not dawn, as James had threatened to wake them up the night before, for there was way too much light.

Wait a minute...

He had already woken up once this morning!

James obligingly took out his iron pocket watch. He had yet to come of age, so for now, he had only this rusty one. It was already a wonder that his father had decided to buy him a new one considering what had happened to the thirteen watches that had preceded this one.

“Six p.m. And thirty-two minutes, if you must know.”

Sirius cursed aloud, as he slowly remembered what had happened.

“Where are we?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but strangely enough, Sirius glared at him right away, as if expecting some smartass answer. Which was, of course, what the other teenager had been readying himself to give him.

“Yes, I know we are in a forest, and yes, I know it's not the Forbidden Forest. What I am asking is whether or not you know anything else that I don't, and that might be useful.”

“Calm down, mate... I have absolutely no idea where we are, as you so elegantly hinted at. But I'm pretty sure that if there is someone to be angry at, it would be you, for I feel you simply shouldn't have touched that black diamond again. Where it is, by the way?”

Sirius frowned, streched both his forefingers, and stood up.

The precious gem fell off the folds of his pullover. It wasn't gleaming anymore.

Next to them, Remus stirred. Soon enough, he opened his eyes.

Sirius and James were about to ask him if he was alright, but his first words were directed at Sirius, making him scowl, while the third wizard in the group had to stiffle a laugh.

“You shouldn't touch that again, Padfoot.”

Remus' voice as well as his gaze were stern, and Sirius refrained from just picking up the stone and throwing it at the werewolf's face, just to spite him.

After all, his friend wasn't totally wrong.

Remus looked around for half a minute, sat up, and looked back at his friend.

“Alright. If I get this right, we landed in an unknown forest, with absolutely nothing else than our clothes, our wands, and James' cloak. Maybe we should try to make a fire, for when it will get dark, before anything else."

Always the pragmatic, Sirius mused, as James looked around frowning at the mention of his invisibility cloak. He couldn't see it anywhere... He had apparently failed to notice the shimmering toga that was cloaked around him.

Remus rolled his eyes, and tried to stand up.

A groan of pain startled the two others.

“What is it, Remus?”

The werewolf winced, and looked down at his ankle.

“I think I sprained my ankle. The one that was broken the other night.”

James and Sirius winced in sympathy.

Remus moved into a better position, so that he wouldn't press on the sprain, with Sirius' help.

But as the long haired teenager helped his friend, James' mouth gaped wide open.

“What is it, Prongs? The cat got your tongue?”

Seeing as James wasn't answering, Sirius turned to his second friend and squeaked in false alarm.

“Remus, I think Prongs has been infected with the rumor about us two being together! We have to clean his brain right away, or he'll be lost to us forever and ever!”

Remus cocked an eyebrow at that, though a smirk was discreetly tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

“And how do you believe we are to do that?”

“Why, by extracting the brain first, of course. Then, we'll go to a stream, to rinse the brain in it.”

Both Marauders looked at each other for a time before bursting out laughing.

James, on the other hand, was not amused. His jaw had gone back into place, and he squinted at Sirius. Or rather, at Sirius' head. Or even more accurately, at Sirius' visible ear.

The messy haired wizard crossed his arms, waiting for his two idiot friends to shut the hell up and look at him again so that he could tell them why he had lost his power of speech just before.

After a time, Remus wiped a tear of laughter from his left eye, and turned back to a sulking James.

“What is it, James?”

The teenager harrumphed.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought I'd tell you that all of a sudden, Sirius got pointy ears.”

Said pointy-eared stopped laughing immediately, his hands going to his ears, and finding that indeed, they were now pointed. Remus watched, bemused, as his friend became paler than ever, which wasn't easy to achieve, considering his already very light skin. Sirius was the only one who thought to check that the two others hadn't got pointed ears either. Not that they had.

A bit shocked, the long haired youngster let his hair free from behind his ears, so that they'd fall over the pointy mystery of what had happened to him.

“Great, I've become a freak.”

James, who had gotten over his sulkiness pretty quickly and was now trying to find some dry wood to make a fire, quipped from behind a bush.

“You've always been a freak, Sirius!”

Said freak glared at the bush, drew out his wand, that he kept in his right boot at all time, and tried to jinx his friend, to teach him some manners. Unfortunately, things didn't exactly happen as they should have.

The whole bush caught fire.

James screamed out of the bush that he had wanted to use as cover, while Remus drew out his own wand, and somehow managed to put out the fire with a stream of water. Somehow, because it took him at least six seconds to get the stream out of his wand, and because once it did go out, it was barely enough.

Once the putting-the-whole-forest-and-us-with-it-on-fire crisis had been avoided, James carefully took out his wand, and tried a harmless _lumos_. The light was barely enough to be seen in the darkening hours of the coming evening.

Just then, an old man on a mighty horse rode from between the trees and into the three youngsters.

 


	2. Witches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so all that I have forgotten to say last time:  
> \- French, but write in english. I apologize for any mistakes, as well as for typos, though those are more prompt to happen  
> \- I will follow both the films and the book ( except for what will be changed, of course ), choosing what I like better when two events are contradictory between the two sources  
> \- I have a tendency to save, if not all, at least some of the characters  
> \- Sirius is the main charater, but that doesn't mean the others are unimportant.

Gandalf stopped his horse as best as he could so that he wouldn't trample on the three teenagers who looked at him with wide eyes.

Correction, the teenager who looked at him with wide eyes, the one who looked merely surprised, and one last who had made all sorts of emotions disappear from his face.

The wizard had left his dwarvish and hobbitish companions behind to take a look at what had caused the magic disturbance from earlier this evening. Granted, it was also because Thorin was being annoyingly stubborn about not going to Imladris even when there simply was no other way to read the map than to ask Elrond.

Gandalf could understand that the dwarf was cautious of Thranduil. Truly, he could. People usually weren't cautious enough when it came to Thranduil. But Elrond wasn't Thranduil, and not all elves were as ireful as the Elvenking. And in fact, Elrond wasn't an elf, he was half-elven... or three-quarters-elven, to be accurate, but accuracy wasn't the point here.

Anyway.

The facts were, that now, Gandalf and his horse were in the forest, not far away from the road, and the wizard was looking at three youths who were staring right back at him, more or less suspicious.

What they were doing alone in the wild was surely an interesting question. But there were more important questions to be asked.

One of the teenagers was sitting on the ground, seemingly with a broken or sprained ankle. He was tall, very tall, taller than some adult elves, even, and Gandalf wondered if he was going to get over seven feet one of this days; if anything, he looked like he was well on the way to. The skin the old wizard could see was covered in scars of various natures, but none had been made by a blade. His hair was a light brown, and his eyes a yellowish green.

The young one seemed quite calm, or at least controlled, and he was holding a rather strange, carved stick that reminded Gandalf of something, but what exactly?

Another teenager stood a bit further away. He was tall, but not as much as the first one, with fair skin, elegant features, ink-black long hair and outstanding grey eyes, that looked more like liquid silver than anything else. If there hadn't been so much darkness in his gaze, Gandalf would have thought it was a young elf hiding his ears with his hair; but elves so young were rarely left to travel on their own, and none had usually experienced things so terrible they could match this teenager's gaze. For there was much suffering in the young one's heart, though not much wickedness.

It was the one who looked at him suspiciously.

The last one, however, was the one who caught the old wizard' attention. First of all, his mop of black hair was truly astounding, challenging the laws of gravity. Second, his hazel eyes were partly hidden by... things made of glass and metal. Third, he was holding a stick much like the first one's, and there was light emitted from it. Last, but not least, only two-third of the boy were visible, even if said boy wasn't hidden by anything.

It was the one who was looking at Gandalf wide-eyed.

As it was, James had forgotten, in his haste to hide from Sirius' anger, that he was still drapped / trapped in his invisibility cloak, that, after much effort, he had been unable to unfasten.

This was quite a sight, truly, to have a teenage boy before you, and not be able to see part of him, such as his chest, and half of his left leg, while you could still see what was actually behind the parts that you could not see.

James blinked once, twice, thrice, and eventually looked the old man up and down. The rider seemed to be in sheer astonishment at their being there, and the teenager wondered why. He followed the moving gaze of the old man, and shrieked in a manner that Sirius would surely use to taunt him later on.

His wand was still lit!

James whispered a quick _nox_ , and tried to hid the wand behind his back, which was foolish unless the rider was blind or stupid, and wouldn't work anyway, because thanks to the invisibility cloak, his back wasn't in any state to hide anything.

That was when he noticed that, in fact, he was still drapped / trapped in his invisibility cloak. James paled, sure that this time there was no escaping it. He had been seen, not only practicing magic, but drapped into an obviously magic item. He was almost hearing the sound of a Ministry owl coming for him in his mind.

Behind James, Remus coughed loudly enough to get everyone's attention.

“James, there's no point in ridiculing yourself more than you already did. Sir, may we ask you where exactly we are? We... appear to be lost in this forest.”

James sent a bemused look at his friend, who ignored him completely. He then searched for Sirius's eyes, who was still staring warily at the old man.

Gandalf went down his horse, to be at the right level when looking at the teenagers.

“You, young sirs, are in the Trollshaws. Now, what I would like to know, is how you got lost in such a place, when the nearest settlements are miles away, and the farms are being deserted because of the trolls that are descending from the mountains.”

This time, it was Sirius who responded, seemingly less wary of the stranger, though with Sirius, what was and what seemed to be rarely were the same things.

“We comes from a group of farms to the North. Our families were killed by the trolls.”

By that time, James had finally understood that the old man was more than seemingly an old wizard. He surely didn't dress like a muggle, and he gave off a Dumbledore-vibe. And he knew about trolls. Or maybe he was simply jesting with them.

It wasn't that James was slow to understand things, it was just that... well... he had no freaking idea as to where they were, why there was an old wizard on a horse that had almost trampled them, why there were trolls attack in the neighborhood, and why the hell neither Sirius nor Remus seemed disturbed by any of this!

Gandalf looked over the three teenagers, and smiled genially.

He had had doubts before, and he still didn't know how the three had come to travel together, but the way the long-haired one kept his head lowered and the panic of the mop of hair had finally revealed a part of their secret.

“Oh, are you, now? Then I guess the semi-visible boy over there with a lighted stick is a farmer boy, the one with all the scars has been repeatedly attacked by a rabbit, and you, young elf, are no elf at all.”

James, who was getting calmer by the second, squinted at his best friend, as if expecting him to suddenly transform into a house-elf. Sadly, this never happened, and Sirius remained as handsomely perfect as ever. Pity, that.

Remus saw the looks on his friend's face, sighed, and gestured for him to come over. James obliged, and sat down next to the werewolf, who then gestured to Sirius to come too. The old wizard respectfully, though he seemed to find all that very fun too, stayed next to his horse.

The scarred youth looked back at Gandalf. His manner of speech seemed soothing in more than one way; the mop of hair was becoming less excited, and the young elf looked less tense than before, though still cautious.

“Sir, if you would give us your name, we could do as much?”

Gandalf smiled again.

“Ah, names! I have many of those. East from here, I am known as both Mithrandir and Gandalf. Some calls me the Grey Pilgrim, but I have also other names that aren't as flattering. My true name, however, I keep to myself, for I do not wish to influence the Free People in other ways than by the sturdiness of my advice. Gandalf would do, nonetheless.”

Remus and James shared a troubled look, that Sirius totally refused to let appear in his eyes, too used to control everything, and to keep his reactions to himself when with strangers or dubious people. He wasn't sure if the old wizard before them fell in both categories, but he still wasn't one he would confide in mindlessly.

Fortunately, Remus wasn't as paranoid, if he could still be called cautious, and Gandalf wasn't a bad person.

“I am Remus Lupin. This is James Potter. And the one who is trying to read your mind without actually reading your mind but only by the power of his intellect is Sirius Black.”

Sirius growled something rude to his friend, who simply ignored him, and went on.

“Would we be wrong to believe you a wizard, Sir Gandalf?”

“Forget the 'Sir', young one. But you are right, I am, if not only that, a wizard. Now, would I be wrong to guess that you have yourselves some aptitude at magic?”

Remus ignored that question for the time being.

“You have called my friend an elf, Gandalf, but I am afraid to say he wasn't one only a few hours ago. Also, you walk, or should I say ride? around in a very obvious garb. You have trolls on the loose. As for us, we woke up in this forest after Sirius did something reckless involving accidental bleeding upon a cursed stone. From this, I believe we have been somehow pulled out of our world and into yours. Would you, perhaps, have any idea as to how we could go back home?”

Hearing this, Gandalf's eyes lit up in wonder, and he sat on the ground, not too far from the youngsters, but not to close either. He didn't want to make them too suspicious of him.

“Not from this world, you say?”

James piped up before Remus could say a thing, earning a death glare from Sirius, who, if he had been asked beforehand, would have vehemently argued against revealing this particular piece of information so soon.

“Exactly. We were at school, a school for witches and wizards, that is, and if I may say, you remind me much of our Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Gandalf. And he has many names, just like you! Anyway, we were at school, and Sirius had brought this family heirloom with him, he cut himself on it, and when he picked it up... well... here we are.”

Sirius looked askance, but also with surprise in his eyes, at his best friend. Even if James was somewhat of an airhead from time to time, he wasn't completely stupid either. Actually, when James was an airhead, it was more in the bragging department. Not this... carelessness.

“I wonder if you haven't hit your head somewhere when we got here...”

Remus, still looking at Gandalf, interrupted James before the mop of hair could say anything.

“Don't be silly, Sirius. James has been knocked on the head so many times by Lily that he must have lost half of his neurons. It's just starting to show after all this time, that's all.”

James looked indignantly at the werewolf, but said nothing, realizing that yes, he had behaved a bit out of character just now, even if he wasn't close to admitting he was losing any kind of neurons from being hit by Lily. Lily was too perfect to do anything that bad, as rendering him stupid.

Gandalf smiled indulgently at the three youths, more amused than anything else by their bantering.

After a while, though, his gaze went to the one who had apparently "become" an elf as he had entered Middle-Earth.

If he had been a man, Gandalf would have guessed him fifteen or sixteen. As the other ones looked the same age, he supposed the teenager had kept an equivalent body with his transformation, rather than being given a body corresponding to his age in elven years. If not, he would have looked like a six or seven years old mortal, for elves took around fifty years to fully mature.

“Do you have this stone of yours?”

Sirius reluctantly handed the old wizard the said stone.

Gandalf turned the black diamond between his hands for a good minute, then sighed.

“I really don't know. It reminds me of something, but I don't know what. It is linked to anoth... Wait a minute. It was your blood, and your blood only, that activated it?”

Sirius nodded, surprised by Gandalf's outburst.

“Then, pray tell me, how did your two friends end up with you here?”

“We grabbed him when we saw the gem glow, and then, all the lights in the room disappeared.”

“Did something else happen?”

Remus and James exchanged a glance, and shrugged. Sirius, on the other hand, finally decided he would tell. After all, with all that had happened, he didn't have much of a choice.

“When I picked up the diamond, I heard a... voice. It greeted me by my name, and said that one of my ancestors had called for their help to escape from home. Then it asked if I wanted to go home, and I just...”

Gandalf brandished triumphantly a pipe that had apparently been hiding in his cloak all along, and that none of the teenagers had seen being taken out, so busy they were with their current problem. Sirius inwardly scolded himself for being so careless.

“Ah ah! You, young elf, have not been taken to this world by chance. I would say your ancestor was an elf who ran away from Arda by pleading the Valar for their help, though I have no idea of who it was. You are now an elf, but you weren't before, because there is no such people as elves in your world, and so the trait was dormant.”

Seeing James try to say something with a big grin on his face, and Sirius silencing him with his hand, Gandalf frowned, and corrected.

“Or, nothing such as our kind of elves, anyway. You couldn't be one back there, but since you are here now, you have become one. Speaking of which, I suppose you have tried to use magic since your arrival in Arda, you three?”

And the old wizard glanced at the burnt bush three feet away. Sirius glared unabashedly at James, who looked somewhere else, seemingly very interested in the leaves of the tree above them.

“And it didn't go exactly as you expected, did it?”

Remus, who was obviously the calmer of the three, nodded.

“Yes. James said something stupid, and Sirius tried to hex him with a minor spell, but it put the bush on fire. Which is odd, by the way, because when I tried to water it down, and when James tried a _lumos_ , a spell that create light at the tip of one's wand, it was very weak. For Sirius, it seemed to be overpowered.”

Gandalf looked at the presented wand in Remus' hand.

“Your friend is an elf, but he couldn't be one where you come from. Your magic doesn't work the same way here than it did there either. I guess these wands are the vector that you use when you want to do precise magic, or simply to spell something that is not yourself?”

The three young wizards nodded. They did not need their wands to turn into their animagus form, and apparition didn't need them either. But when they needed to aim, it was better to have a wand, or else they ended up affecting the whole area around them, or worse, themselves.

“Here, men and women with magic need a staff, such as mine. They aren't numerous, and there is a clear distinction between witches and wizards, and it has nothing to do with gender. I am a wizard, but you would classify as witches.”

James spluttered his indignation, while Sirius frowned, and Remus couldn't hide his amusement.

“Your wands aren't sufficient to channel your magic, in a way. As for Sirius, he is an elf. Elves don't use staffs. They just do magic, and if they tried to use a staff, they might drown a village instead of making the rain fall upon it. Moreover, it could possibly kill them, for too much power would go out of their body without control. I recommend that you put this wand of yours aside, young elf.”

Sirius paled once again, making him look more like a ghost in the incipient night.

That was when James noticed that his friend was glowing a bit in the dark. Not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for the mop of hair to tease his perfect friend; a little more, and he might start to sparkle!

Then, Gandalf proposed for them to ride with him to Rivendell, also called Imladris, a city of elves and knowledge where he was headed to with a reluctant company of dwarves, and one hobbit. There, maybe they would find something to help them out and send them back to their own world.

Of course, the mention of a library, of elves, dwarves and hobbits lit a growing interest in Remus, who was also very happy to learn that since he was injured, it'd be better if he was the one riding Gandalf's horse. James was more than a little curious about what exactly a dwarf and a hobbit could look like. Sirius at least agreed that it was better than to stay in the wild with no furnitures and failing magic.

On the way to the wizard's camp, Gandalf was walking next to his horse, holding the reins. He warned them that the dwarves were a suspicious bunch, and not very fonds of elves. Sirius grumbled something about him being just as suspicious, and not very fond of his family himself, and that maybe they could try to do a contest on the matter.

Soon, the conversation turned to how they couldn't go around and tell everyone that they literally came from another world.

“I wouldn't have told you, if I had had a choice.”

Gandalf acted as if he hadn't heard the comment by the young elf. He found it alarming, how a sixteen years old teenager could be so paranoid of his surroundings, especially if he was, deep down, an elf. Elves were a cautious bunch, that was sure, but there was something more at work there. And besides, it wasn't as if the youth had a difficult personality. With his friends, he seemed to relax a bit, and be able to laugh easily, even if a layer of control still remained.

“You, for example, Sirius. If someone ask how old you are, and they have identified you as an elf, you should say you are forty instead of sixteen.”

The three teenagers looked at the wizard with a bewildered look on their face. Well, it was mostly James, but Sirius would have if he hadn't been so secretive, and Remus was surprised alright, just not completely astonished.

The werewolf had been wondering about what being in another world could mean for him. After all, Sirius could not be an elf back home... What if he couldn't be a werewolf here? Was he human, right now, or was he something else?

This, however, was more interesting for now.

“Do the elves live longer than we do?”

Gandalf smirked a bit, but it wasn't visible in the dark of the night, and under the brim of his hat.

“They are immortal.”

Only his good control of himself stopped Sirius from gasping.

As if to add another layer to their surprise, Gandalf smiled broadly, though it could still not be seen.

“As I am.”

And maybe the two seemingly mortals in their group were too, in a way at least, he mused, because from what they had told him, they came from generations and generations of witches. And wizards, if he was to abide by their classification of magic users, of course. Sirius and James were apparently “pure-bloods”, meaning they came from families with only witches for centuries, perhaps millenia. They had been elusive on that point, as if there was something bothering them about it, but they had still pointed out that the term was a bit deceptive, and they surely had one or two “muggle” ancestors here and there in their family tree, just, not as many as others. Remus himself, if he had a few more non-magic users ancestors, still came from an old family.

Gandalf had already pointed out that Middle-Earth didn't work like their own world. He had not told them that he was a Maia, for he didn't tell that to just anyone, but he still was one, and so knew a bit more things about the way this world worked than many. With all the magic that had been accumulated in their ancestry and their blood, it was more than possible that James and Remus were in fact immortal as long as they stayed in Arda. It was also probably the reason why, when Sirius' ancestor had come to that other world millenia before, and so his dormant but still elven blood had been diluted many times before the teenager was born, he was still an elf, and not the equivalent of a dúnadan.

Gandalf wouldn't have gone so far as to say that, if the two died while in Arda, they would stay in the Halls of Mandos before being released in Valinor as an elf would be, but he was positive enough that their lifespan in Arda would be much more than that of the average mortal.

Now, he hoped that he could get them home before they got old, and, preferably, without them being killed by anything on the way.

Returning to the conversation, he told them that it was because he was immortal that he wasn't a “witch”, but a “wizard”. He wasn't exactly a man, though he looked like one.

After that, they spoke of what they should know about Middle-Earth, for example how to distinguish a dwarf from a hobbit, not that it was difficult, but someone who simply didn't know could get it wrong without mixing the two groups for all that. Just, saying that the dwarves were hobbits, or the hobbits, dwarves, not mistaking the individuals. The wizard told them of each race's peculiarities, and a bit about their customs, too. He also managed to get James out of his cloak.

Finally, they arrived at the place where Gandalf had left his thirteen dwarves and a hobbit, not so long before. The camp was empty of all living beings, though not of furnitures and poneys.

Gandalf noticed a light a bit further away, and cursed under his breath.

“Those idiots managed to get caught by a group of trolls!”

 


	3. Get smarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's time for some troll-baiting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I've created a tweeter account where I'll post about the updates and various news on my fanfics. If you think it's worth a try...  
> https://twitter.com/EKernor

Gandalf looked over the camp, making sure that no dwarf had remained behind, snoring his head off, maybe, but no, there were only him, and the three youngsters he had found a little further away. Resigning himself to have to deal with it alone, he sighed.

“You three stay here. I don't know if you have trolls in your world, nor do I know if they are the same kind of trolls, but I do know those vile beasts have made an habit of eating all that breathe, including sentient beings such as ourselves. I have to...”

But before the old wizard could finish, James spluttered in indignation at being dismissed so.

“We want to help! Our trolls surely aren't exactly the same, but back home, they tend to smash people to a pulp with their clubs. I'm definitely not letting you going against a troll alone, Gandalf! We need you to get to Rivendell!!!”

The wizard gave the teenager a stern look.

“Nothing will happen to me. It is nearly dawn, and our breed of troll is stupid, and luckily they get petrified if they are touched by the rays of the sun. All I need to do is keep them occupied until the sun rise. It is possible that they are, even now, arguing over how to best cook a dwarf, or what is the best sauce to go with a hobbit. If they haven't already eaten my company, that is.”

James was about to insist, but Sirius cut him to it, his voice composed and his face grave.

“You seem to have forgotten Remus' ankle, Prongs. He can't run away if something goes awry, and we don't have our magic ready to use. You two don't have a staff, and I'm pretty sure there is a risk I roast Gandalf's companions as well as the trolls if I try anything. We're just not fit to fight right now.”

“Sirius is right, James. We don't even have regular, non-magical weapons to defend ourselves with.”

James still looked unconvinced, and Sirius noticed that Gandalf was getting more nervous as time passed. He guessed he couldn't blame the wizard, after all, each minute they spent arguing was another minute for the trolls to kill the dwarves and the hobbit.

“Look, James: you'll stay here with Moony, just in case, and I'll go with Gandalf. I can't exactly use my magic well, but at least I can do it, if messily. Moreover, I think you have actually hit your head when we got here. I'm the only one who's not wounded or a bit lost. Also, it seems trolls here can talk. You know me: I can't seem not to irk people. If Gandalf is alright with this plan, I'll be the one doing the talking, and he will ensure my protection until the sun gets to the trolls.”

Then, the young elf stared at the wizard, as if to dare him not to agree to his plan. Gandalf rolled his eyes, and gestured for Sirius to follow him. One in danger was still better than three, and at least the youth's plan seemed sensible enough to work. It wasn't as if trolls were particularly clever.

As the elf and the wizard moved away and to the fire that was the trolls', Remus tried to share a worried look with James, but apparently the animagus was too busy glaring at the retreating back of his fellow animagus friend. The werewolf sighed, but his sigh soon became a groan.

James' attention darted back to Remus, and he almost forgot about the danger Sirius and the old wizard had just decided they'd walk into.

“How's your ankle?”

“I've known worse.”

James smacked his friend on the head, though he did not put much strenght in it.

“That's not what I asked. You tend to get your bones broken and restructured three nights a month, and you used to bit yourself in pain not so long ago. I know you've known worse.”

Remus rolled his eyes, and eyed his swollen ankle. The skin of his heel had gone a disturbing magenta that turned green around the edges. As long a he kept still, he just didn't sense it, but every time he would try to move a bit, a dull pain would make him wince.

“It's not so bad. The bad thing is just that there is no Poppy Pomfrey to get me back into shape in a wink. A sprained ankle would only take a few minutes to heal, in our world, but I don't think there is this kind of magic here. If anything, I'm sure it isn't Gandalf's strong point, if there is.

James snorted a bit, before he went back to staring at the trees where the old wizard and his friend had disappeared.

“Magic truly is different here, eh?”

“I thinks so, yes. We'll have to be careful with what we do.”

Remus joined his friend in waiting anxiously for Sirius' and Gandalf's return, if possible, with the wizard's companions. He hoped nothing would go wrong.

He wasn't the only one, of course. Sirius especially was thinking along the same lines, though he wasn't actually worried. If the point was to confuse a group of idiots into losing time, he was the right man, sorry, elf, for the job. Even if the idiots were a group of trolls, and even if he wasn't actually certain about what trolls could do in this world.

Oh well. He'd just have to stay out of reach.

And try not to annihilate anything with accidental magic.

Though if the “anything” were the trolls, he guessed it wouldn't be so bad. But if the “anything” was Gandalf, the hobbit or a dwarf, he wasn't sure he would be able to support it.

Damn it all. That was exactly why wizarding children went to Hogwarts or another school, or at least were tutored at home. Muggle-borns had to go to school for that exact same reason. Accidental or uncontrolled magic wasn't so bad when it was done by a child, but if it happened to an adult... Depending on his level of raw power, and in special cases on the peculiarity of their magic, it could get really bad.

And Sirius knew very well that he was in both categories: high raw power, what with him having twice the amount of power he should have, and peculiar magic, with his affinities with the Dark Arts. If his magic went ballistic, it would revert to its most comfortable state, meaning, a big and very dangerous explosion of dark magic.

The teenager hoped he could get someone to teach him how to handle the new way his magic worked. Gandalf seemed to know a lot, but he had to rely on a staff, so it wouldn't do, because he couldn't demonstrate. Speaking of which, lucky bastards, Remus and James, they couldn't do their magic without a vector, in this world, not even accidental magic, it seemed. No, really, he'd need to find an elf who could show him how not to let his magic loose... He hoped there was one in Rivendell. After all, he had no idea how long it would take them to go back to their world... if they even managed to go back, that is.

Before him, Gandalf stopped, and made a sign for him to keep quiet.

Sirius banished the depressing thoughts to another part of his mind, one that preferably wasn't going to be needed for their encounter with a bunch of trolls. Then, he took a step to the left, and looked over Gandalf's shoulder to get a glimpse of a small clearing.

A clearing with three huge things standing around a fire, whose smell only made the young elf cringe. He seemed to have gained a better sight, hearing and sense of smell than before, with his transformation into an elf, not that they hadn't been good before. Anyway, the point was that he'd rather not have been able to see each detail of the trolls' figures as he could now, and he would have also preferred to have a lesser sense of smell.

Sirius mumbled under his breath, as he searched for the dwarves and the halfling Gandalf had told them about, and whose voice could in that very moment be heard in an effort to keep the trolls arguing as long as possible about cooking time.

“They're smaller than in my world, but no doubt, with that stench, they are trolls... Though they seem a bit more intelligent than they are back home.”

He glanced at Gandalf, who was eyeing the big boulder on the eastern side of the little clearing with a thoughtful expression on his face.

After a moment of reflexion, the wizard looked at the young elf, as if searching for something on his face, half-expecting it not to be there, half-hoping it would be there. Maybe he was in search of fear, to see if Sirius was, as anyone should be in that situation, afraid, or at least a bit anxious.

As it happened, Sirius was neither, and so Gandalf sighed, wondering if the youth even had something he feared, or if he was just utterly reckless.

“I fear mister Baggins is getting short on tricks to keep them occupied... and three trolls might be a bit too much for me to take on, without endangering my companions, that is. Do you believe you could keep them occupied long enough for me to get to that boulder and break it, so that daylight would arrive upon them faster?”

Sirius gave him a smirk, and that day Gandalf saw something he had not seen on an elven face for long, but not too long. He had hoped he would never see it again. The old wizard shivered, knowing full well it wasn't it, even if it looked like it. Yet it looked too much like cruelty for him to feel right about it appearing on an elven face.

“Oh, they won't notice you moving around, I can assure you.”

The young elf pushed his hair behind his ears, for what he was, for what he had become, to be obvious. He straightened his back, and a freezing smile took over his face.

“Now, let's see how stupid these trolls really are.”

Gandalf watched the youth one last time before he moved around to try and get to the boulder.

He really hoped he wouldn't have to wait for too long, and so to expose Sirius to danger any longer than necessary. He knew he had to wait for the sun to be up, just enough so that when he'd break the boulder the trolls would be instantly petrified, but before the first glow could pass above the rock and warn the trolls of the impending danger. After all, there were always a few minutes, at dawn, when the petrification wasn't instantaneous, a few minutes when the light wasn't strong enough yet, and that the trolls could use to take their prisoners with them and hide from the sun.

If it came down to that, of course, Gandalf would still be able to save his fellow travelers. Just, not without risk. And possibly not all of them.

As the wizard made his way behind the trees in a fashion that kept him unseen, Sirius walked in the clearing.

He waited patiently for the three trolls to stop bickering over intestinal parasites, eyebrows raised and fingers tapping lightly on his hip. He could see the halfling, or hobbit as Gandalf had called him, standing in what looked slightly like a potatoes bag, and staring, flabbergasted, at the newcomer. That is, at him. A few dwarves had been tied around a spit, with a fire going on under them, but the trolls had been so busy arguing they had forgotten to take care of the fire. The last dwarves had been tossed in a corner, all of them tied in bags like the hobbit. Some of them were trying to convince the trolls they tasted terrible, but the others had started to take notice of him.

Sirius refrained himself from giving the trolls an annoyed glare. With them not noticing like that, he might just have nothing to do in this rescue mission. Gandalf wouldn't even have to break the boulder, for the fools would just go on and on until dawn took them.

This was so not going to happen...

Sirius cleared his throat, instantly getting everyone's attention. Yes, even the trolls'.

The trolls were stupid, that's true, and they had some difficulty with the idea of focus, but as soon as they heard the disdainful sound that came from another direction than their captives, they thought that maybe someone had been kind enough to come and add themselves to their dishes. So obviously, they stopped bickering, and turned to look at the stranger / potential dish.

Said stranger / potential dish happened to be an elf. The trolls watched him for almost a full minute, before Tom finally asked:

“Who are you?”

The unknown elf's smile grew larger, and everyone in the clearing thought something was very wrong. There was something wrong with that smile, as if it didn't belong on an elf's face, even if, as any dwarf would tell you, elves were mostly bastards anyway. But there laid the problem. Bastards, yes, but smooth-faced bastards. They never looked like that.

“Sirius Black, master troll.”

Tom blinked at the civility, sensing that there was something strange, but unable to pinpoint it. It wasn't as if trolls knew what sarcasm was, anyway. They had heard of it, they may even have heard some, but they had never understood what it was.

Bert turned the spit with the dwarves on it once, scratched his ugly head, and narrowed his eyes.

“And what do you want, Sirius Black?”

At the repetition of the name, two dwarves exchanged a look. It didn't sound elvish at all, though it had a nice ring to it.

The elf's smile become thinner, and he turned to look at the dwarves in contempt.

“You aren't seriously considering to eat those, are you?”

Thorin growled something rude in his beard, but the elf ignored him, though the King-in-Exile could just tell the bastard had heard him. He just knew it. He had seen the amused glint in the elf's eyes, and that confused him greatly.

The last troll, William, looked at the dwarves and indulged in some nose picking.

“Of course we are. We're trolls. They're dwarves. Dwarves taste goodish. We eat dwarves.”

After this magnificent speech, the troll squinted his eyes as if he had just had the revelation of the Third Age.

“Elves taste good too. Better, maybe. We should eat you.”

At that, one of the dwarves, possibly Oin, even if with all the piling up of dwarves Thorin wasn't sure who was where, one of the dwarves shouted something about how it was a great idea, and they should just eat the elf, since he tasted better, and leave them alone. Black gave him an evil look, but it disappeared the moment it appeared, and the elf was looking back at the trolls.

“Of course you should. In fact, there's a saying that what you eat makes you smarter. I'm positive that if you eat these... dwarves, you will definitely get stupider.”

Several dirty looks were sent Sirius' way, but as always, he ignored them.

Meanwhile, the trolls were trying to decide if it had been a compliment or an insult. Needless to say they were having a hard time figuring it out. The fact that they had never heard of such a saying didn't help.

Sirius glanced at the sky, to find it a worryingly-still-dark-color. It had turned a bit pink, sure, but it still was dark pink, and Gandalf would need a bit more time, it seemed. So he went on.

“It would be a shame for you three to get more stupid because of some dwarves that will only taste... well, like dwarves. You are already especially clever for trolls, you know. Where I come from, trolls can't even speak. Imagine that!”

Bert, Tom and William seamed really pleased to learn that there was a place in the world where trolls were stupider than they were. It made them feel as if they were of superior breed or something. Of course, Sirius didn't bother to tell them it was in an altogether different world.

Still, William was hungry, and he was totally agreeable with eating the dwarves as well as the elf, even if he risked to become more of an idiot because of it.

Not that there was much to lose to begin with.

“I don't care. Bert, Tom, let's just roast the elf with them.”

Sirius scrunched up his nose, and cast another look of contempt at the poor dwarves, who had almost forgotten about his distasteful comments about them in their fear to be eaten. Just for good measure, you know. He had to act the part.

“You really are determined on eating them, aren't you? You must be more stupid than I thought. Dwarves are disgustingly foolish, and it will only rub off on you. I, on the other hand... Eating me could actually make you so much smarter that you won't even be able to recognize your own mind.”

There were some screams of protestations coming from the dwarves, but mostly the unfortunate fellows, as well as the hobbit, were gaping at the elf, having realized that the stranger was offering himself to be eaten, which seemed a bit odd, truthfully.

Sirius' smile vanished, letting a thoughtful look take over.

“However, I suppose there isn't enough of me to make you cleverer if you share. Maybe you should decide which one of you should get the honor and the glory.”

The trolls blinked at the elf a few times, then Bert punched Tom in the face.

“What you're doing, you dumbass?!”

“I'm not letting you become the most intelligent of us! I don't want you to use your newfound intellect to keep the best part of what we get to eat to yourself! This elf is mine to eat!!!”

William watched them stupidly as they exchanged punches. The dwarves were watching the match with interest, hoping that maybe the trolls would get rid of each other and they would only have to deal with the one remaining, nevermind that they were all tied up in potatoes bags. Bilbo Baggins was staring, wide-eyed, at the elf who had gotten the trolls to fight between themselves, and who, now that his deed had been done, was watching the scene unfold with mild interest, his left hand on his nose because of the horrid smell that came from the trolls.

William had just gotten a kick in the ribs from Tom, even if he hadn't even asked for the elf, when Gandalf finally climbed up the boulder. The trolls stopped fighting altogether to stare at the newcomer, hoping that maybe, it was a second elf, so that two of them could get smarter, while William would just stay dumb, since, you know, he hadn't bothered to even ask in the first place. Maybe he liked better being stupid.

The old wizard's voice boomed over the small clearing, as he called for dawn to take them all, and be stone to the trolls. Sirius sighed in relief when, with a single hit of staff upon stone, the boulder broke into two parts and let the sun fall upon the monsters. As much as he knew he had handled the situation just fine, he hadn't been very fond of the trolls. Seeing them writhe and stiffen as they turned into stone, hopefully forever, was a relief.

The teenager also took notice of the fact that no staff could shatter a boulder like that, without magic. In fact, he knew no magic in his world that could do that without actually blowing the rock to smithereens, which could prove to be very dangerous for the people standing by. Maybe this kind of magic came with the use of a staff...

If that was the case, James would just be overjoyed to get one when Sirius couldn't. James had always dreamed to show off, seemingly enhanced strenght for example, which could only be granted by a potion back on Earth... and it never lasted long.

Sirius turned to the hobbit who was still staring at him as if he was the Messiah, but mixed with a dragon or something equally frightening.

“I'll get you out of this, come on.”

Bilbo Baggins just nodded at the stranger, still astonished by what had happened over the night. He was quite proud of his having delayed the trolls, but not so much about getting caught in the first place, and he certainly didn't know what to think about the latest events and about that strange elf.

Who, now that he got a closer look at him, seemed young. Of course, Bilbo knew that all elves looked young, but this one looked younger than young. Not adult-young, but minor-young. The hobbit wondered what a youth was doing on the road, offering himself as troll-food and eventually getting the monsters to fight between themselves instead of eating him.

Then he remembered that he still wasn't sure why he himself was out there with a company of thirteen dwarves and one wizard, so he wisely choose not to pry. People did what they wanted, and far from him the idea of being nosey.

While Sirius helped Bilbo out of his bag, Gandalf jumped down the boulder and went to help the others. After he and the young elf had freed everyone, there was a quick conversation about the wizard's leaving, his coming back, and the fact that Bilbo had succeeded in stalling for some time.

After that, Thorin glared at Sirius and asked why in Arda there was an elf here.

Before the old wizard could say anything, the teenager snorted.

“The elf here just took part in saving your life. You could be a bit more polite.”

The King-in-Exile threw him another dirty look, but it was another dwarf, Bombur, who spoke first.

“I don't see why we should be polite to someone who insulted us!”

“If you can't tell it was all to get the trolls to fight amongst themselves, then you are dumb indeed. I have never met a dwarf before, so how could I know if they are idiots or not? Moreover, I was talking to trolls. I doubt their point of view about you matters much... especially considering the state they are in now.”

Sirius was looking at Bombur as he spoke, but for a moment his eyes shifted to Thorin. There was a hard edge to his gaze, as if he was speaking these words especially for the King-in-Exile. Thorin didn't miss the hints, and his own gaze became even colder, if that was possible.

“It still doesn't give you the right to insult any of us, elf.”

Sirius gave the dwarf a short laugh. His voice was glacial when he answered.

“Tell me, master dwarf, would you rather be dead, or offended? An insult can be mended with apologies, a kill cannot. Besides, the world is an unfair place. People judge you all the time, from your garments to the family you come from or the way you speak. You should learn not to care for the opinion of those who know nothing about you, or you will be hurt more times than necessary.”

And on that, all the dwarves and one hobbit watched the glares between Sirius Black and Thorin Oakenshield. One wizard sighed, praying for his life to be simple for once.

 


	4. Slytherin much

James and Remus had watched as the sun had started peeking above the horizon, waiting for Sirius, Gandalf, the dwarves and the hobbit to come back to the camp. Now, they were a bit worried. The wizard and their friend had gone for some time, and the two were quite sure people either came out quickly from a fight with trolls, or they didn't come out at all. Sirius had convinced them to wait here, but now they were less than convinced that it had been a good idea. While they couldn't do much without a staff and Remus' ankle was still sprained, they just didn't like waiting like that...

James bit his lower lip as he passed his hand through his hair, making it look even more messy than they naturally were. Which meant, really messy. Lily had compared him to a black porcupine, once.

“You know... It's been a while since they left, hasn't it?”

Remus sent him a side glance, brow furrowed, but soon went back to staring at the direction in which Sirius and the old wizard had disappeared.

“It has. Your point?”

“Well, they've surely taken care of the trolls, now. And if they haven't, the trolls will search for this camp, and they will find us. And if they do find us, we will not be able to defend ourselves any more than if we go to them. Correct?”

Of course, James didn't think the trolls had done the others in. He didn't want to think it, because it would mean that Sirius was...

Remus turned completely to look at him, this time, eyebrows raised high.

“I suppose so. Would you be suggesting that we go ahead and take a look at the state of things?”

“My, Remus, you're taking the words out of my mouth. Come on, I'll help you to walk. My mum always said I do a good walking cane.”

Remus blinked, not sure why and how Euphemia Potter had been led to say such a thing, but eventually he disregarded the information, as it wasn't exactly the time to wonder about such things.

The werewolf descended from Gandalf's horse more or less successfully, wincing a bit when his left foot touched the ground.

“Well then, off we go. But we put on the invisibility cloak, just in case.”

“It won't cover our feet, remember?”

They had outgrown the hiding possibilities of the cloak for four persons in third year, for three in fourth year, and since the end of last year, even two of the Marauders couldn't use it without their feet being seen. Unless they were James and Peter, who were the two shortest of the teens. Peter and Sirius could somehow manage without it being too obvious, Sirius and James was simply not possible, and Remus was just too tall to share with anyone.

Remus rolled his eyes, apparently not amused with his friend.

“We're going against possible trolls, not against McGonagall, James. They would be too puzzled to see four feet without anything above, if they even notice us, for them to act upon it quickly.”

James grumbled that McGonagall wasn't out to eat them if she caught them sneaking around, unlike some trolls they didn't know whether they'd meet or not yet. Still, he put the cloak around their shoulders, closing the fastener with one hand while the other supported his injured friend. Finally he pulled the hood on both their head, wondering once more how came the cloak had not been torn up yet. It wasn't supposed to be used by several people, and while when they had been eleven they had just used it like some fancy blanket without bothering with the hood, because they still were small enough to do so, now wasn't the same.

Speaking of which...

James frowned his now invisible eyebrows, and turned his head a bit to look at Remus, whom, being under the hood too, he could still see... even if he could only see his head and part of his neck.

Just as he had thought, then. The werewolf's chin was way higher than it was supposed to be.

“Have you grown two inches during the night or what?”

Remus snorted, thinking it ridiculous, and turned his head to answer his friend's question... noticing in doing so that James' eyes were lower than expected.

“Maybe you are the one who lost two inches, Prongs.”

The werewolf then glanced at his feet. They were visible up to the ankle.

Last time James and him had tried to use the cloak together, before coming to the conclusion it wasn't a good idea, in other words, two weeks before, only his heels were visible, as long as they stayed still.

“Or maybe not. That's weird. But we should go meet these trolls, don't you think? I'd hate to lose our very personal elf to such brutes.”

James nodded, and so the two teenagers made their invisible way, hobbling under the cloak as Remus had a hard time moving even while being supported by his friend, toward the trees.

After a time they finally reached the fire they had been able to see in the dying night, and there they stopped, staring at the scene in disbelief.

Sirius and Gandalf were in good health, alright.

Apparently Gandalf's fellow travelers were good too. They were thirteen, just as the old wizard had told the teenagers, to be standing between four and five feet, and one who was only slightly shorter, but way less stocky. And thirteen of them were staring, just as the teenagers currently did, at the fourteenth, who was engaged in a glaring contest with their newly-elvish friend, while arguing with Gandalf about the fact that he wouldn't agree to have an elf travelling with them.

Or at least, that's what James and Remus understood, though they were more stunned with the way Sirius was taking the insult. He usually reserved that tone for people he despised, or whose actions, if not the person, he despised. Usually, Slytherins, but not only. James and Remus had each gotten some tongue-lashings from Sirius over the years, but that special tone had never been directed at them in all the years they had known each other. The tongue-lashings had been bad enough.

“And what do you fear, Thorin Oakenshiled? That I will go out of my way to throttle you while you sleep? I have better things to do during the night, such as sleeping, thank you very much. Now, if you want to have my death and my friends' on your conscience, then please do, leave us here, in the wild, unarmed, and injured for Remus. But if you do that, I'll ask you to be good enough and tell, when you get to the nearest settlement, where to find our corpses. I would hate for my bones to be gnawed upon by beasts for too long.”

Sirius' tone was a bit vicious, Remus noticed, as James quietly unfastened his cloak, revealing their figures to the eye, even if no one except Gandalf, and possibly Sirius, seemed to notice them. Sirius being malevolent rarely was a good thing in the making.

The dwarf was about to answer, a disdainful look on his face that reminded the teens too much of the very friend with whom he was currently arguing, but Remus cleared his throat, hoping that he could sweeten the situation... somehow.

“Sirius, please. Be nice.”

The elf glared at him, but said nothing, mollified... or apparently so, if anything.

Then the werewolf turned his eyes to the dwarf whom Sirius had called Thorin Oakenshield.

“What my friend means, master dwarf, is that there is no reason for you to be wary of us. Yes, we might be strangers, but as you can see, we still are youngsters, and unarmed at that. You gave us no reason to attack you, nor a reason to believe you might be a danger to us, and we are only asking for you to help us reach the nearest settlement. We are willing to do anything to help, if participation is the matter, but we really need to get to safety.”

Remus had seen a strange glint in Sirius' eyes when he had mentioned being unarmed. It was true that Sirius' magic was still there, but he couldn't use it without risking his life, and their magics, James' and Remus', were simply too hard to channel into wands, in this world. They were basically unarmed.

Even if Sirius' oratorical skills were sometimes more of a weapon than anything else.

“We are only asking for the most simple help, and we would be grateful if you could allow us to travel with you for a while.”

The dwarves and the hobbit were now all looking at the scarred youth, whom another teenager was helping to stand. They had been startled, at first, but these two didn't look very dangerous. The one with the scars looked ill, and on top of that as if he had been mauled by a wolf or another wild beast. Moreover, it was obvious that his ankle was not right, as he kept leaning on his other foot and on the second teen. Teen who, if he seemed to be rather athletic, was still nearly three inches shorter than his friend, and who was wearing some strange glass-thing before his eyes.

Bofur muttered something about not letting children in the wild, but he shut up when Thorin gave him a stern look. He could understand about the elf, especially since, good intentions or not, he had insulted them when confronting the trolls, but these two? Thorin wasn't going to let them to die here, was he?

The regal dwarf took the time to look the newcomers up and down before speaking.

“I wasn't expecting these two friends of the elf to be children of Men. I can consider your request, but given your state, I doubt you would be much help, young man.”

Remus flushed a bit, as it reminded him of all the times he had been looked down upon for his sick complexion, even if here it was more about his sprained ankle than anything else.

James jumped in the conversation just then, to defend his friend.

“I'll do his share of work, if it comes to it.”

Before Thorin Oakenshiled could respond, Sirius' voice cut in.

“If it is about remuneration, I can pay for the three of us.”

All heads turned to the elf, some in disbelief, some in mock outrage... though the dwarves wouldn't say no to some more gold, even if they had to protect an elf and two men for it. A life of wandering after the fall of Erebor had not been kind to their finances.

Thorin finally spoke up, eyeing the elf with a bit less distrust... just a bit less. Even if the elf was offering a reward, as any civilized person should know to do, it didn't mean he was a better person for it.

“We are not savages. We dwarves wouldn't leave people in need to fend for themselves.”

But apparently the allusion flew over the elf's head, who simply failed to react.

“But it would be just good, since you can pay, to at least compensate for what you'll be eating. I don't reckon one of you can hunt, can you?”

The youth with a mop of black hair opened his mouth as if to contradict the King-in-Exile, but he promptly shut it back, as if frustrated about something that would prevent him from hunting. The youngster glared at a stick he had in his hand, as if it was its fault, and Thorin decided to think about it later. There was something about those three that was definitely fishy, for example, what they were doing alone in the wild, but they didn't seem like a bad bunch of persons.

Except the elf, of course. Elves were all the same, anyway. Self-righteous people who spoke big, but were cowards.

Still, that one, if he was dreadfully insolent, didn't exactly seem like a villain. Just a bastard.

“How much can you pay us?”

Thorin'd have relented, anyway, and allowed the three to travel with them, if simply because only one of the three was an elf, and because there was one who was injured. They were only children, and it wouldn't be said that Thorin Oakenshield was as much of a bastard as the elves had been to his people.

But since the elf had offered...

“I don't know how much our currency would be here, but as our money is of gold, silver and bronze, I guess you can figure it out on your own.”

And that being said, Sirius took a handful of galleons from a pocket, which he held up for the dwarves to see.

The dark-haired, regal-looking dwarf with whom he had been talking / arguing / glaring since the beginning of this situation squinted at the pieces, and eventually took the handful.

“That will do. Now, get on, we have to get back to camp. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

And he gestured at the petrified trolls behind them.

But Gandalf stopped him from leaving, pointing out that they needed more food if they wanted to make it to wherever it was that they were going. Remus and Sirius shared a look as Imladris wasn't mentioned, deciding to keep their questions for later, when they'd be alone with the old wizard. A dwarf snorted, saying that the trolls had most likely eaten everything edible in the vicinity, anyway, and that they'd better just leave.

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow, and Kili almost felt as if he was being told off.

They all went on their way, searching for the troll-hole that had to be somewhere here.

Not interested, and Remus having some difficulty with walking anyway, the three teens took their time in getting there. James was still supporting the werewolf on his left, and Sirius was walking at their right, making sure he could catch his friend if something happened

James was glancing lopsided looks at Sirius every once in a while, and Remus finally had enough. He didn't really appreciate to be looked past too many time, and a Potter who didn't get to say what they had on their mind could turn out to be quite annoying, as the werewolf had found out.

“James, speak.”

The messy-haired teenager looked at him as if he had been betrayed, as Sirius' attention went off Remus and onto his other friend.

“But...”

This time, it was Sirius who rolled his eyes, feeling he was the cause of his best friend's weird behavior. Or, that is, of James' usually awkward behavior, since the guy reacted like that each and every time he didn't want to speak.

“Well, speak, Prongs. I won't eat you, I promise. Even if your question turns out to be a stupid one.”

James glared at him, but Sirius, as always, completely ignored it. He had much practice with his parents, after all.

“I was only wondering why that dwarf looked like he wanted to murder you on the spot?”

Sirius shrugged. He had much practice with that look too.

“Apparently he doesn't like elves any more than Gandalf had warned us for it to be likely, and I had to say some rude things to get the trolls' attention off the rising sun. By the way, as you may have noticed, it would seem that trolls in this world get petrified by sunlight.”

“It'd be good if it was so simple with ours. By the way, Padfoot, why did you have all these galleons with you? It was a sunday, in school, at the beginning of the year. I don't see how you could have spent it...”

Sirius threw a wolfish grin at Remus, who was already regretting having asked.

“You never know what might happen in Hogwarts. I always have some money with me, for potential bribery.”

James and Remus only stared at their friend.

“Who would you want to bribe? And what for?”

“You never know, James. Better safe than sorry, and you see, it just came in handy.”

James shook his head. Even if Sirius wasn't wrong, as it had come in handy, there were simply times when he couldn't understand his best friend. Sirius was plain weird.

Remus sighed, pointing out that now, his friend had nothing left of his gold, and that he shouldn't have given so much to the dwarves from the start. If they had asked for more, then he should have proposed it, but not right away.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at that, and after having checked that no one else was there to see, he reached into his pockets, and when he took out his hands, they were full with two other handfuls of galleons, sickles and knuts.

“What do you believe? I never go out without at least that much money. I offered enough for them not to believe I wasn't proposing all that I had, so that they wouldn't have a chance to argue.”

“Slytherin much, Sirius?”

The elf snorted, but didn't deny the accusation. James and Remus, after all, knew him well enough to understand that the minute he had spent with the Sorting Hat on his head hadn't been for no reason. He had never told them how exactly his Sorting had gone, but it was kind of obvious that Slytherin had been considered, just as Gryffindor had. Remus had ventured Hufflepuff too once, for his friend's loyalty, and Sirius had smiled lightly. It wasn't false, though Hufflepuff had only been mentioned, and never really considered by the Hat.

Sirius was brave enough to die of it, the Marauders always said, and noble enough that he wouldn't abide by prejudiced beliefs, but that didn't mean he wasn't sly and cunning. He was, at least up to some point, his parents' child. After having grown up with Slytherins, it would have been a wonder if he hadn't been so.

Gandalf's voice called for the teenager, and Sirius put his money back where it belonged, in the specially magicked pockets of his jeans. They walked out of the trees' shadow, and found themselves staring at a door that was literally made of stone. A big key had been inserted in a keyhole, and a terrible stench came out of the cave that was beyond.

Sirius immediately brought his hand to his nose, cursing once again the fact that elves were apparently much more sensitive than humans. The stench was even worse than the trolls', something like a condensated smell of troll, death, and carcass.

Gandalf gave him a sorry look, and handed swords to the tree teenagers.

James eagerly accepted his, always reminded of Gryffindor's legendary sword each time he saw one of these weapons, while Remus and Sirius exchanged an uncomfortable look.

It was a dwarf with a big white beard who put the sword in the werewolf's hand.

“You will need it, you know. You will heal after a time, and you still need to be able to defend yourself if we are attacked.”

Remus mumbled something about violence, but still accepted it.

When Balin turned to the elf, he saw that the pointy-eared youth wasn't exactly thrilled with the weapon nonetheless.

“Isn't there something less... Well, I don't know, maybe daggers? Whenever I got my hands on a sword, something terrible almost happened. I think they are too... broad and long and just not adapted to my fighting style?”

The youngster with a mop of black hair burst into laughter at the statement made by his friend.

“You mean how you'd rather do something unexpected rather than abide by the rules?”

The elf gave him a mean look.

“There are no rules in combat, James. The ones who think a fight is the same as a duel are the ones to die. And what I mean is that I'd rather fight with something easy to use from any position.”

Gandalf rose his eyebrows at Balin as he put down the sword he had offered the elf, and the dwarf went to look for some daggers. He could understand the desire of the elf, but it just didn't sound very elf-like.

This elf, if anything, was a strange one.

Eventually, Sirius ended up with three daggers that he tucked into his belt, saying it'd have to do for now. The dwarves packed all the food they could from the troll-hole. Gandalf and Thorin had taken the two best swords of the cave, and the wizard had given a knife to Bilbo, who was just short enough that it made him a sword. Some of the dwarves were burying the gold they had found in the troll-hole, when one of them came back, saying the ponies and Gandalf's horse had gotten free, and run away.

Sirius and James shared a worried glance, before looking at Remus, who smiled painfully. The werewolf just wasn't going to be able to walk on his own, and they still had to get to this Imladris place...

Then a glint appeared in James' eyes, and his friends squinted at him as he grew thoughtful. They weren't quite sure the teenager's idea was safe or reasonable, for most of his ideas were not.

James turned around, without telling them what was on his mind. It didn't reassure them one bit.

The teen spotted the nearest dwarf, and asked him if they had any strips of leather, or anything of the sort that he could use to tie something up. The dwarf, Ori, gave him a dozen of solid bands, a curious look on his face.

James walked back to his friends, and handed the leather strips to Sirius, who stared at them blankly.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Well, Remus can't walk, and Gandalf just lost his mount. It doesn't mean we don't have another four-legged, horse-like animal around. Only, we'll have to do without a saddle.”

The two other teenagers' eyes went wide as they realized what their friend was implying. Sirius and Remus tried to argue that it might not have been the best time to show that to the others...

...But loud sounds interrupted them before they got to make their point.


	5. Off the real us

James stopped talking at the very moment his eyes went wide and his jaw slack. Not three feet away from the teenagers, a sled pulled by rabbits had... appeared. Burst into existence. Popped out of nowhere. They had heard noise, and then, _voilà_! A sled pulled by rabbits.

James' eyes traveled from the sled and the rabbits to the old man who was... driving... said sled-pulled-by-rabbits. All thoughts of Prongs and whatever had left the teen's mind, as he stared at the somewhat disheveled old man. An old man who kind of reminded James of Gandalf, but a Gandalf who would have been fused with the current Hogwarts teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, just, minus the missing limbs.

Next to James, Remus was looking at the old man on the sled too. It was a man who looked to be about Gandalf's age, then again, Gandalf had said he was immortal, so who knew how old he truly was? And, if Remus' nagging feeling was right, who knew how old this stranger was too? Because the man felt too much like Gandalf, and even if the werewolf wasn't an expert on wizardry in Arda, he could still take an educated guess.

This old man was one of Gandalf's fellow wizards.

The youth's guess soon was confirmed to be the truth, as the stranger, Radagast, proceded to warn Gandalf about some growing evil, at which mention the three worlds-travelers shared an uneasy look.

Sirius, especially, was growing somber. He knew too much about darkness, and quite a bit about evil. The Dark Arts were the Blacks' chosen field in magic, and that not without reason. Unlike any other witch or wizard, they weren't mentaly affected by the use of potent dark magic. No one knew why, but it was the case, and often Sirius had wondered about it. Often he had bitterly remembered that apparently, no matter how good a man he decided to be, he would always be a dark wizard.

Being who he was, Sirius was also a powerful wizard, gifted in many fields. But it would never be enough to erase his being a Black, would it?

The teen knew nothing about Middle-Earth, what Gandalf had told him and the two others excepted. He had no idea what evil lurked in the shadows, but from the two old wizards' current conversation, it was a potent evil, at least, that had pervaded this “Dol Guldur”. A growing threat.

Just like Voldemort, back home. Maybe even more powerful. Maybe even more frightening.

Even in this world, he couldn't escape war.

Remus nugded him out of his dark musings, and gestured discreetly to Radagast the Brown's sled, while James was too busy staring openly at the old wizard. Especially at Radagast's hat. Apparently the wizard kept hedgehogs under his hat, and it simply baffled James.

“A shame we don't have one of those. I'm not sure if James realizes he can't exactly show off his animagus skills, when our protectors don't even know we have magic.”

Sirius snorted, still keeping an eye on his other flabbergasted friend.

“Even if he did, I doubt he'd see our point. There's obviously no Statute of Secrecy in this world, for Gandalf's nature is quite obvious to anyone with half a brain, and you know him. James wouldn't get that it's better to keep our powers a secret, even if the dwarves are allies for now. 'For now' being the relevant part here.”

Witches, elven or mortal, Gandalf had said, were rare. Meeting three in the same day would surely appear suspicious to Thorin Oakenshield, and as the teens were definitely not his favorite persons right now either, it wouldn't do to give him more reasons to distrust them. The dwarves were supposed to protect them, but who said they would keep their promise if they learned that Remus, James and Sirius were not regular teens?

Alright, Sirius might be a bit paranoid. But it didn't mean he was wrong for all that.

He didn't trust Thorin one bit not to go back on his word as soon as he'd learn they hadn't told him everything, gold exchanged or not. The dwarf didn't like Remus and James very much, if the looks he sent them from time to time were any indication, and he absolutely loathed Sirius, surely because he was an elf. In fact, Thorin didn't seem to be friendly with anyone, and completely cold with those who weren't of his race. Bilbo Baggins, the funny little hobbit, wasn't his favorite person either.

Sirius' thoughts were cut short when the party realized there were wargs around. Apparently, wargs were big bad wolves, slightly degenerated, with too many fangs and claws and ill intentions for honest people to like them, and possibly one orc or two in tow, riding them. Orcs being evil things who tended to try and murder you if they ever caught sight of you. In other words, Arda was a very welcoming place.

Oh, and apparently these orcs and wargs and what not were after Thorin and Cie. Now Sirius was beginning to wonder if they wouldn't have been better off by themselves.

Thorin made his way to the teenagers, squinting slightly at Remus' injured ankle, an unpleasant scowl on his face.

“You are going to be a hindrance, and you know that. So I don't want to hear even one complaint, as we will be forced to protect you. If I hear one, I'll just let you to be eaten by the wargs.”

Remus' face had gone white at the dwarf's harsh tone, but he kept his tongue to himself. James, on the other hand, did not.

“It's rich, coming from you! You are the one they want, Mister Glaring, and Remus should be the one to pay? It's almost as if you hoped that he will distract them long enough, once you abandon him to the wolves, for you and your merry friends to get to safety!”

Thorin now looked as pale as Remus. The dwarf glared with contempt at the teenager who had just insulted him. Anger was clearly written on his face, but he thought it beneath him to answer that. Sirius could see it in his eyes.

So the elf stepped on his best friend's foot, while Remus hissed:

“Potter, shut it!”

Thorin walked away, letting the youths deal with their own anger and fears. At least, he had not revoked his warning, which meant that he still allowed them to stay with his party, even if the terms weren't exactly what they hoped for.

James turned to look at Remus, rage still visible on his features.

“Why did you stop me? He didn't deny it, did he?”

The werewolf sighed, and passed his hand in his hair in frustration. James could really be too hot-headed, sometimes.

“The point wasn't about you being right or wrong about what he thought, Prongs, but about him not refusing our accompanying them. Sure, the danger comes from our association with this party, but now it's too late to part way.

Sirius cringed as he heard a howl that sounded kind of Moonyish, only, more evil than Moony's. The wargs, surely. The elf looked back at his friends, worry etched on his handsome face.

“Using Prongs as a mount is out of question. Not with these beasts going after anything and everything. But Remus...”

“Yeah, I can barely walk. Running is plainly impossible right now.”

Then, Sirius overheard Radagast offering to take the enemies' attention away for some time. An idea came to the young elf, and he almost ran to the two older wizards.

Remus couldn't run, stag-riding was not an option, but Radagast had a sled, didn't he?

“Excuse me, but would it be possible, rather than for you to be a bait, that you'd take my friend to safety? He can't walk, and we've lost our mounts...”

Radagast and Gandalf stared for a moment at the elf who had just interrupted their arguing, then the brown wizard's gaze went over to the said injured friend, a few feet away, who had gone from white as a sheet, to red as a tomato, when he had understood what Sirius was planning.

Radagast blinked, and his eyes went down to the sprained ankle.

“Certainly. I can take him to Imladris, even. It isn't far from here. But then, I would be the one needing a diversion, if we wish to make it there alive.”

James, who, with Remus, had joined his friend, snorted, taking out of Sirius' pockets a few pranking items. When he found what he had been searching for, he smirked.

“Ah! I know you had it with you, Padfoot. And no, distraction will not be a problem, Mister bird-poop-in-my-hair-is-trendy.”

Remus smacked the impertinent mop of hair on the head.

“Be kind, Prongs. What's it you've got here?”

The werewolf's eyes lit up, and he shook his head, amused, but a bit irritated with the original purpose of the blue balls.

“Seriously, Padfoot? What were you planning to do with that on a sunday?”

“Not your business, Mister Perfect Prefect.”

Gandalf smiled slightly at the boys' antics, but the situation soon forced him to put it to an end. Still, he was happy to see that despite how damaged the young elf seemed to be, he was still able to banter playfully with his friends.

“Would you three be so kind as to explain what these blue balls will do, exactly?”

The three teenagers shared a mischievous look, and the one with a mop of black hair even snickered a bit.

“Let's just say it will take our enemies' attention off us...”

“Off the real us, that is...”

“But we can assure you they will hear of us...”

“We will say no more, though. It ought to be a surprise, after all.”

Gandalf sighed, and hoped that whatever these balls did, it would suffice. He didn't exactly want to have to fight, if it could be avoided. Not with Bilbo, who had never fought with anything else than the weeds in his garden, and not with James Potter and Sirius Black, who couldn't use their magic right, and had seemingly never fought with other weapons before today. The fact that Remus Lupin would be led away by Radagast, if the Maia didn't forget where he was supposed to go at some point, was easing the old wizard's worries, but still. Even so, something could happen to the teens...

But nothing would happen. Radagast was truthworthy, and if he went straight to Imladris, there was little to no chance that any warg could catch up. As for the two other teenagers, Gandalf was going to see to it himself, that they made it alive to Elrond's city. He couldn't promise he'd find a way to get them back to their world, but he certainly wasn't going to let them die this day.

The dwarves, hobbit, wizards, and teenage witches / wizards / depend-whose-point-of-view-was-adopted, in short, everyone, got ready to go on their way. They could hear the howling of the wargs and the yelling of the orcs coming closer. Within two minutes, they were ready.

Sirius and James gave Remus a twisted smile, as they wished each other good luck. Radagast checked one last time the straps that held the werwolf to his sled, just in case the ride got... turbulent, with wargs going after them and all. Then it was time to go.

Still, Radagast turned around, and his eyes fell right into Sirius'.

The old and odd wizard frowned. Sirius took a step back, a bit unnerved by the scrutiny. Radagast's gaze left the silver eyes, and took in the elf's face.

“You really do look like him, young one.”

Sirius lost control for a split second, and the corner of his mouth tilted.

It certainly wasn't the moment to ask, but he had this strange urge to ask anyway, just like he had been urged to accept the voice's offer, when he had cut himself on the black gem. As if there was something, in this world of Middle-Earth, something that he had to uncover. A secret, that kept him linked to this place.

After all, Gandalf had said it himself. One of his ancestor most likely came from here, Arda, and had ran away to the good old Earth for some reason.

Who was this elf, and why had he begged the gods to let him out of his own world?

“Like who?”

Radagast blinkled, and shook his head.

“If I could remember that, boy, I would have told you.”

Well, if that wasn't one satisfying answer... Sirius was about to ask for more explanations, but the old wizard was already getting on his sled, and James was calling him to get to work with the blue balls.

Frustrated, the elf joined his friend. James was with Kili, the youngest dwarf in Thorin's party... who was still something like thrice their age. The young dwarf had a bow in his hands, and James was apparently trying to get one of the balls on the tip of an arrow. Eventually, the teenager groaned in defeat. Kili excused himself, and went to his brother, curious as to what these balls were for, really.

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

James shrugged, still eyeing the blue ball in his hand harshly, as if it was its fault that it couldn't stay in place on the arrow.

“I thought maybe we could shoot them further away with a bow, but it doesn't work.”

Sirius patted his friend on the shoulder, and turned around to look, from under the cover of the trees, at a handful of warg riders in the nearest prairie.

“You'll do fine, James. Where is you chaser's pride? These balls are like, what, only one percent of the weight of a quaffle? You can throw these far enough without a problem, pal.”

James grumbled something, and turned to the others.

“Alright, I'm going to throw these blue balls in various directions, and the moment they touch the ground... Well, you'll know it. When it starts, run for it. The orcs will be way too busy determining which one is true to even notice us moving.”

Gloin tried to ask for more details, but James ignored him. The teenager counted to three, and threw the first ball, a good hundred and a half feet away to the East. Immediately he spun to the West, and threw another. He refrained from sending one to the North-East, because that was where they would all be going, and they didn't need to put orcs on their own way.

A few seconds passed, and a voice boomed to the East, taunting the orcs to “catch them if they could, morons!”. James threw another ball to the South, and Radagast rode his sled, and Remus on it, out of the forest and into the plain.

Another voice roared to the West, calling the orcs names. James threw one last blue ball to the South-East, and the dwarves, the hobbit, Gandalf, Sirius and James left the cover of the trees for the high grass.

They reached a first tall boulder when the third ball started sprouting taunts to the South at the orcs, who were by now totally confused, if the voices Sirius could hear from the forest were any indication.

When the last blue ball spoke, two warg riders had spotted Radagast's sled, far away in the distance already. The orcs went after the wizard, but the sled was more than one step away, and very fast. There was no point worrying about Remus and Radagast.

Most of the orcs were still in the forest, trying to figure out what was going on, but a few, surely a tad more intelligent than their fellow monsters, were now in the prairie, searching for others foes. They hadn't spotted the party, yet, but Sirius had a feeling it was only a matter of time.

Then a warg rider appeared right above their heads. The orc hadn't seen them, yet, but Sirius knew canines well enough to see that the orc's mount had caught on their scent. It was too late...

But Kili shot the beast, and its rider fell to the ground, injured too. Gandalf jumped out of the rocks' shadows, and gestured for the others to hurry up, and follow him. The old wizard seemed to know where he was going, and anyway, it wasn't as if Sirius knew any better. He followed.

Catching sight of James, though, the elf spoke between two short breaths.

“Put on the cloak, and go with them. Padfoot can handle himself against those wargs if needs be, but Prongs is too high up. His antlers would do great damage, but you'd risk being bitten.”

“But...”

“Go, and use the cloak, damnit!”

James relented half-heartedly, and put on the invisibility cloak as he could while running, efficiently disappearing from view, even if, from time to time, one of his feet could be seen for a brief moment. With the high grass, though, it wasn't much of a problem.

Suddenly a dwarf screamed that they had lost Gandalf, or maybe the wizard had lost them, eitherway, same thing in the end, they didn't have a guide anymore.

Sirius swore, and reached for his daggers. The dwarves and Bilbo were doing as much, waiting for the warg riders to fall upon them. Thorin saw the young elf, but failed to locate his friend.

“Don't tell me we've lost the child too!”

“No, he's here, just hidden from view. James likes to sneak upon the truly nasty opponents, if given the choice.”

Thorin nodded, immediately focusing on somehing else, but next to Sirius, a mildly angry voice came from an invisible teen.

“I don't sneak up when I can help it!”

Sirius refrained from rolling his eyes at his best friend, and hissed back:

“Would you rather I had told him you were hiding like a coward?”

James didn't answer. He didn't have the time too, anyway, because Gandalf had just sprung from the boulder behind them, calling for the members of the party to come in before the orcs arrived.

Sirius smirked: a secret passage! Those he liked.

But just as he thought that, a warg came charging at him. The elf swore under his breath, and daggered the beast's left eye violently. Sirius jumped to the left, and onto the invisible James. Surprised, the elf looked around.

James was still here, though he couldn't see him, and Kili had remained behind too. Damned be these idiots! Sirius grabbed his friend's arm as he could, and only gestured to the secret passage and to the young dwarf when James tried to protest. The look on his face had to have done the job, because he felt his best friend's arm moving away, and one second later Kili was drawn to the passage too.

Sirius rolled to the left to evade the arrow of an orc, and screamed:

“Prongs, you know I can take care of myself! Stay safe, or I'll have your hide!!!”

And he transformed.

The warg rider watched with big eyes as the dark-haired elf turned into a large black dog and leaped at the throat of his mount. The dog had cold silver eyes, and its fur seemed to disappear into shadows at some point. In some way, it reminded the orc of death, as the rider was thrown to the ground, and claws ripped his throat open.

Padfoot the grim turned to face his next opponent, who was only recovering from the surprise. A war-horn sounded in the distance, and others followed. The orcs and wargs grew nervous.

Padfoot attacked. Another war-horn. The grim took two other enemies down, and an arrow in the left back leg. He turned around, ready to pounce on the archer, but the orc was already falling to the ground, another arrow in the head. Padfoot looked around, and saw several riders coming towards him.

In the back of the grim mind, Sirius understood that his current appearance might not be taken lightly as he was in the middle of wargs and orcs, and grims just didn't look friendly. So Padfoot jumped over a dead warg, and ran for the forest to change back into Sirius, hopefully wash away the blood he had on him and take care of the arrow in his tight. He hoped it wasn't poisoned.

Only moments after that, Lord Elrond of Imladris rode amongst the orcs, beheading one as he did so. Behind him, several elves took care of the remaining foes. Glorfindel joined the half-elf near the corpse of an orc that had apparently been mauled by one of their own wargs.

“ _Lord Elrond, I fear one escaped into the forest. It was not a warg, but I cannot assure it was not one of Sauron's creatures. May I go and look for it?”_

Elrond Half-elven allowed his best warrior to go, still frowning at the cadaver. It simply didn't look right, as if it had been attacked by a beast, but not a warg, and intentionally at that.

Glorfindel walked into the forest, following a few spots of blood here and there. Apparently the giant black dog he had seen from afar was wounded. Maybe it wasn't a beast of the enemy, then, but only a creature of the forest that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Orcs were cruel, and most of the time with no reason. The elven warrior wouldn't be surprised if they had made a game of executing the dog in a fight with a warg.

After a few minutes, Glorfindel came by a stream. The drops of blood had become more frequent, and the elf was considering putting an end to the dog's misery, if he found it, and if it came to that. No one deserved to suffer in their agony.

Glorfindel walked yet past another bush, sword in hand, in case the beast attacked.

But what he found on the other side of the bush wasn't a dog. It wasn't a beast either.

As a matter of fact, it was a “who”.

A young elf with silver eyes was staring darkly at the warrior, his hands pressed on his left leg. A bit of blood was pouring between his fingers, and the broken shaft of an arrow laid on the ground.

Glorfindel's breath got stuck in his throat as he took in the features of the youth.

 


	6. Winter Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did not give up on this story, or on any of my stories for the matter, by it's the first time I have a summer job, and so..; well, I'm on summer break, I'd say. Off schedule for all my stories, as it is.

The elven lord was this close to swallowing back in anxiety when he realized it wasn't him. The youth who was sitting painfully just here, before his eyes, wasn't he whom Glorfindel had been reminded of. He was only a young elf who needed assistance.

Yes, he looked like he had, back then. But it wasn't him, not exactly. First of all, he was way too young... Though with people such as the one Glorfindel had been thinking about, age meant nothing. Still, the eyes were wrong. He hadn't had silver eyes like this youngster... Then again, with people like that, eye color didn't mean much either.

Anyway, it was highly unlikely that the person Glorfindel had thought about would come here, looking like that and alone, of all places. And he would certainly not have let himself be injured by an orcish arrow. More like, no orc would have been foolish enough to even aim at him.

This stranger, no matter how much he looked like the paintings the elf lord had been shown, this stranger was not him. He was only a youth, who needed his help, and had probably been surprised by the warg riders sent after Thorin Oakenshield and Mithrandir.

Glorfindel couldn't just stay there and stare at the youngster's face as if he was the incarnation of evil while the stranger was bleeding out.

“ _Do you think you can walk?”_

The stranger only stared at him, a bit darkly, and for a moment Glorfindel wondered if, maybe, the youth hadn't understood him. But it would be ridiculous, right? All elves, at least in Arda, spoke Sindarin. It had been so for a few millenia already, and for the youngster not to understand Sindarin while he was an elf, he'd have to come from Aman. Which wasn't the case, surely.

Or, maybe, the stranger wasn't an elf. Maybe he only looked like one. A dúnadan, maybe. They tended to look more like elves than other mortals. If that was the case, it wouldn't be so strange for him not to speak Sindarin...

The youth pushed a strand of black hair out of his face, and put it back behind his ear.

Glorfindel found himself staring again, at the youngster's pointed ear. Definitely an elf. Well, so much for him not speaking Sindarin because he wasn't elven. The youth was elven. So either he didn't want to answer, or, for some unfathomable reason, he didn't know Sindarin.

“I'm sorry. I have no idea what what you said meant.”

An elf who did not speak Sindarin. Glorfindel blinked. It had been a long time since he had last met such an elf. Such an encounter hadn't happened to him since... Well, since he had come back from Valinor.

Which didn't explain why...

But who cared? It was hardly the time for this.

“Do you think you can walk?”

The youth looked down at his wound, prodded it a bit, and winced a little. He didn't really seem bothered by the blood, or the very fact that he was wounded, and the elf lord wondered if, maybe, he was an orphan, and hadn't lived with someone to care for him. It'd explain why he didn't understand Sindarin, and why he was, perhaps, used to being wounded.

Then the youngster looked back up at him.

Glorfindel, for the first time, noticed how soaked the stranger really was. As if he had washed off the blood in the nearby stream, and somehow had himself ended up in said stream.

“I can walk. But it would be better if I had something to lean on.”

The youth was now standing, and the elven lord had to admit, his leg seemed a bit twisted, as if he didn't dare to push it too far and lean on it.

A traitorous smile fought its way onto Glorfindel's face, which he mildly tried to erase, without success. The stranger was certainly that, a stranger, but he was an elf, just like him. There was no way he wouldn't feel a bit protective of one of his people, who wasn't even an adult yet. Even if the youth's face had caused his heart to miss a beat, there was no reason for the elven lord to distrust him.

“Come here, I'll help you.”

And he offered his left arm for the youngster to lean upon. To his surprise, the stranger hesitated for a time, before actually agreeing. Still, the youth did lean on his arm, and together they managed to walk away from the stream, the blood and the broken shaft of an arrow.

Glorfindel had never seen such a strange youth, in fact. Not amongst his people, at least. It made him fear for what the youngster had lived, before that. Why was he alone, here, in a forest at the borders of Imladris? Had he been about to come to the Valley, perhaps, in search of his people? What had happened to his family? To his fellow travelers?

The elven lord couldn't help but steal a glance, once in a while, at the stranger. If it could really be called “stealing”, because he had the nagging suspicion the youth was totally aware of his curiosity. It felt like despite his young age, the youngster knew much more than the average elf. Like he could just read Glorfindel's soul, even. Like it was the only reason he was kind of trusting towards the older elf. Like he knew too much about the world, to trust this easily.

But aside from the creeping distrust Glorfindel could guess when he looked at the youth, there was still the matter of his looks. It was... disturbing, really. The elven lord felt as if he was seeing him, the other, no matter how many differences he spotted between the two.

It wasn't exactly the same face. The stranger looked younger, the eyes were the wrong shade of gray, and he didn't have that gentle, selfless expression on his face. He was more guarded than anything else, though not rudely so.

But still. The two looked much alike. A bit as if, if Glorfindel had to guess, the youth would grow up to look exactly like him. Maybe a slight difference, but such that it would be possible to see it only with both of them standing next to the other. Basically, the same face, the same body, the same hair. Only the eyes, as a difference.

And the attitude.

The other would always appear to be perfect, as he should have been, to hide that he was corrupt on the inside.

The youth didn't bother hiding his distrust.

And somehow, that alone was enough for Glorfindel to trust him.

Sirius almost tripped once or twice, to be honest, but he guessed it could have been worse. He could have been unable to walk, period. The arrow could have been poisoned. It could have been much worse, really.

But no, it hurt and the wound made him trip a few times, but that aside, he was alright. And luckily for him, the people whom he had seen arrive from afar seemed to be well disposed towards him. Or, at least this one was. If anything, the elf had not started their first encounter by pointing an arrow or a blade at him. A reaction which Sirius would totally have understood, as he was a stranger here, and possibly on these elves' territory. Still, he appreciated not having anything pointy pointed at him. It almost made him feel loved.

They walked out of the woods, and the other riders came into view. From where he was, Sirius could see they were all like the elf who had found him, that is, elven. It didn't seem far-stretched to him, now, to consider that Gandalf's company had really entered elven lands. It seemed even very plausible. Luckily, Sirius happened to be, or at least to look, very elven right now.

For a moment, Sirius almost felt grateful that his ears had become all pointy with his arrival on Middle-Earth.

Almost. He still wondered why exactly that probable elven ancestor of his had deserted the place to go and hide on his plain old Earth. It could be because it wasn't so great to begin with, after all.

And there was also the fact that, if he hadn't had an elven ancestor, A) he wouldn't be an elf right now, B) no one would have been landed in this strange land without a warning, because he wouldn't have had a cursed/magic/whatever stone to bleed upon.

So for now, Sirius felt pretty reserved on the subject of his elvenitude.

A female elf noticed the two first, and soon every elf out there was staring in their direction. To Sirius, they seemed like warriors. Most of them were males, two excluded, but like in the wizarding world, they tended to keep their hair long. Their features were smooth, but not feminine for all that. Sharp, too, especially the males. They looked made of sculped glass, in a way.

And Sirius couldn't help but notice that indeed, they reminded him much of his family.

All the members of the House of Black, and most of those who were related to them, were handsome or beautiful to various degrees, especially in their youth. On the outside, if not always on the inside, he mused as his thoughts drifted to Bellatrix and to his mother.

The elves were like frozen in that youth, if he remembered what Gandalf had told him well.

Now Sirius knew why both the old wizard and the dwarves had immediately recognized him for being an elf, even if he had hidden his ears with Gandalf. He definitely looked the part.

Apparently his mysterious elven ancestor had left more than a black gem and the lordship ring to his family. The Black looks were suddenly not so much of a mystery anymore...

Eh, if he made it home, maybe he could reveal that his family had elven blood in their veins. Seeing as the elves on Earth were not much like the ones of Middle-Earth, his mother would surely pop a vein at the mere idea.

Yeah, Sirius wasn't okay with discrimination, but he wouldn't like to be compared to a house-elf either.

His eyes flittered to the last elf he had yet to observe.

Almost instinctively, his stance straightened. The cold mask he wore on his face so often came back into place, and Sirius did his best not to squint at the stranger.

There was something about this person...

It was a bit like what he had picked up from Gandalf, after a few hours in his company, he realized. He could feel power coming from the stranger. Magical power, and... Something else. Something older. Something more. Something that the other elves didn't have, not even the golden haired one, who still felt way more powerful than the average elf, so far.

Something familiar, too, but Sirius had no idea why, or how.

He'd think about it later on.

The golden haired elf who had helped him walk called out for a little help, and soon enough two elves were by Sirius' side, looking at his wound with a frown, but without worry. The teenager supposed it was better than nothing, even if he couldn't understand a word they said.

His eyes were on his wound, which was now sluggishly bleeding again, as if it was too much effort to do it right. Sirius had never been so grateful to supposed laziness. Even from a non-sentient wound, that could not, by definition, be lazy.

Bleeding to death because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time was definitely not on his bucket list. Especially since, you know, the “to death” part of it would shorten rather significantly the amount of time he'd have to do the other things on that freaking list, before kicking the bucket for real.

Before he knew it, too focused on the many reasons why he was infinitely grateful that the wound wasn't pissing blood right now, it had been cleaned and bandaged by the elves.

Just then, the golden haired elf and the strange one were back next to him, and possibly dismissed the two others. Possibly, because they talked, and the two others nodded before going their way. Sirius still didn't understand one word they were saying, obviously. So for all he knew, they could have been joking about the color of his socks.

But it seemed unlikely.

The golden haired elf watched for a second the retreating others, and then he looked back at Sirius.

“I did not introduce myself, I fear. I am Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower. And this is Lord Elrond. He is the ruler of this land.”

So. He was right about being on elven lands.

“Sirius Black, Lord Elrond. I fear my home country is so far away, you would not have heard of it.”

Lord Elrond was almost as tall as Glorfindel, and his black hair were pulled back, except two strands that fell before his pointed ears. He wore an intricate circlet, and an amor copper-colored. He certainly was as handsome as any elf, but Sirius still felt that elven wasn't the real word to define him. He seemed... more, and less at the same time. Less ethereal, perhaps, but more of a power to reckon with, for that very reason. Because he was here.

Elrond and Glorfindel shared a look of mild surprise.

“I see, my friend, that you were saying the truth, about him speaking the language of men. Westron, and no Sindarin... How peculiar.”

The elven lord truly seemed intrigued by that, but it wasn't why he was squinting at Sirius so much, the teen was sure.

If the first thing Glorfindel had noticed were the overall features of the youth, Elrond had first of all been surprised by the shade of his eyes. Glorfindel had immediately recognized the features, and it had kept him from realizing to whom the eyes were liking Sirius. Elrond had understood from whom the eyes came, but it had prevented him from noticing the likeness between the teen and the other one.

The razor-sharp jaw, the ink-black hair, the shape of the mouth, of the nose, of the eyes, even, everything pointed to him, the one whom Glorfindel loathed to think about. But the liquid silver of the eyes pointed to another person, and if the warrior and the half-elf had been able to realize both of these truths, they would have known who Sirius Black was, even if he didn't know it himself.

They would have known who two of his ancestors were, and they would have questionned their knowledge of the fates of two elves supposedly executed by Sauron himself.

But the idea was so preposterous, so impossible, that once they had seen one of the two ancestors in the youngster, their minds hadn't allowed them to see the second ancestor.

So Lord Elrond of Imladris observed the youth standing before him, still half-soaked, with curiosity. No matter how he looked into these eyes, he could only see this particular shade. How it was possible, the half-elf didn't know, but it truly seemed as if this Sirius Black had inherited the silver eyes of that old family. It was the exact same shade, of that Elrond was certain. Even if it had been a few millenia since the last of that family had sailed away and to Valinor.

Even if no one with these eyes had walked on the grounds of Middle-Earth since an Age ago.

“What surprise me more, though, is that you seem to be one of Rhîmeril's people, when they left mortal ground so long ago.”

Glorfindel almost choked on his breath when his friend mentionned the only silver-eyed elf amongst the very first of the First Borns. Now that Elrond had said it, he couldn't deny it. These eyes that had so startled him, that had told him the youth was not, in fact, the one he had first thought of, they were Rhîmeril's.

How ironic that a descendant of the ellith would bear the face of that particular person...

Except for the eyes, of course. Always the eyes.

If Glorfindel had spoken his surprise at the likeness, Elrond and him might have understood, that it wasn't irony in the least. That it was so much more than that. That Sirius had to be kept out of Sauron's sight. That the Enemy couldn't be allowed to see the young elf...

But it was too much to process, perhaps, and Glorfindel couldn't even begin to imagine, couldn't even accept to envisage that Sirius' features were not the result of irony. And so he completely missed the point, and as for Elrond, he was not offered the possibility to come to the right conclusion himself.

For now, at least.

Sirius, on the other hand, was very interested by the turn the conversation had taken.

After all, he wanted to know who his mysterious elven ancestor was, and by extension who all his elven ancestors were. After all, elves being immortals, he could still end up meeting one, one day. Maybe. Even if this lord had just said they weren't around anymore...

“Rhîmeril?”

The hope for more information must have been a bit visible on his face, because Lord Elrond's smile softened a bit. Suddenly, he seemed more amused than welcoming.

Sirius suspected the you-are-welcome-amongst-us look from before was a face Lord Elrond gave to anyone friendly enough, just because he was a nice person.

Sirius was more of a try-anything-and-I'll-skin-you-faced guy when he met someone for the first time, especially on unknown grounds, but hell, to each his own.

Elrond smiled a bit at the guarded interest the youngster was showing, though he couldn't help but to glance around them, especially at the orc and warg cadavers.

“I will tell you about her if you want, but first I feel we should start our way back to Imladris. From what I gather and from what Radagast the Brown told us when we crossed pass, Mithrandir and your friends are on their way to Imladris, my city, as we speak.”

Sirius' eyes widened a bit as the elf lord mentionned the weird old wizard, hoping it meant everything was fine for Remus too, at least.

Though he merely squinted right away at the mention of his “friends”, plural.

“Fine. But I think you meant Mithrandir, my friend, and the dwarves. Because them and I are certainly not on friendly terms so far.”

Elrond arched an eyebrow, which he had already well-arched naurally, at that, but said nothing.

And so, he heard the mumbled grunt that followed, as did Glorfindel.

“Not that it's my fault, really. Thorin shield-faced simply hates my guts for no reason.”

The two older elves shared a look at that, already certain that Mithrandir's new guests would be a handful.

An elf had to help Sirius to get onto Asfaloth, Glorfindel's horse, just behind the golden-haired elf, because they didn't have a spare horse, and the warrior had insisted. And, of course, because Sirius was injured. He could get onto a horse on his own, thank you very much, in normal circumstances.

Glorfindel and Elrond went first, the other riders not far behind. They did not push their mounts, for they did not wish to strain them without reason, and because it would have prevented them from talking.

And Elrond had promised he'd talk to Sirius about this Rhîmeril person, whom the elf lord seemed to think he was related to.

Five minutes into the trip back to Imladris, the half-elf made his horse fall one step behind Glorfindel's, so that he'd see Sirius riding behind the golden-haired warrior.

Velvet grey and silver instantly met. The two elves locked eyes, and once again Elrond felt it.

There was something about this youngster, something he hadn't felt in a very long time in anyone else than the usuals. The Istari, obviously, and Galadriel, to say it plainly.

He supposed the same could be said about him, too, but one can hardly asses themselves for that kind of feelings.

Magical power, beyond what is usually granted to the scarces witches of Middle-Earth.

And something else. Something the Istari had, but not the Lady of the Light. Something Elrond couldn't describe, because he had not felt it in such a long time in anyone else, he had simply forgotten about it. Something familiar, though. Even if he had no idea why.

The Half-elven drove these thoughts away, only noting to speak of it with Mithrandir, later on, to focus on his promise.

Any normal elf would know what he was going to start with, but Elrond had a feeling Sirius wasn't normal. Far from it. And so he started at the beginning... or at least, at the beginning of what mattered to the youth.

“The elves were the first living, sentient beings to be created, and the very first elves to breathe had no mother or father. They simply came into being, by the will of Eru, and Rhîmeril was one of these firsts.”

Elrond remembered the one and only time he had seen the ellith, long ago. And yes, he could tell it was the same glint that colored Sirius' gaze, the same sharpness. The same, unique silver.

“In Westron, her name would be Winter Rose. She was the only one, of the firsts, to have eyes the color of silver, but changing as if it was liquid. Only her children ever bore that particular shade, Sirius, and this shade is yours too.”

“What happened to her, that you seem to think it impossible for me to be one of her descendants?”

A sad, almost bitter smile twisted the half-elf's lips, but his voice wasn't less gentle when he spoke next.

“To her, nothing. But one of her daughters was deceived by the Enemy, and died by his hand. Rhîmeril and her remaining bethren then sailed away, to the immortal shores of Aman, and no one ever saw silver eyes on Middle-Earth.”

Elrond gave a last look at the youngster.

“It was millenia ago. And you are not older than forty, for sure, but you are here nonetheless.”

No one said anything after that, not until they came in sight of Imladris.

 


	7. Enchantingly

James was glancing behind him from time to time, hoping against hope that Sirius would just pop out of the last turn they had taken, and say “sorry for being late”. Merlin, he could totally imagine him, some dark blood urgently wiped off his chin in a half-assed attempt to make it seem he hadn't just turned into a ghostly dog to bite off the heads of a few monsters. That kind of things had happened once or twice during their expeditions to the Forbidden Forest, though not with what the dwarves had called orcs. Big, horrendous spiders, most of the time.

James shuddered. He didn't like to think about acromantulas. Acromantulas were far from his favorite animal. He had nothing against spiders in general, but he drew the line to anything that exceeded one foot in size.

One last glance behind him told him that, as every time before, Sirius hadn't joined them in their run. Damnit. The guy sure could take care of himself, but still. How would he find them once he'd be done with the damn monsters? What if he was wounded?

James stumbled on an unevenness in the ground, and focused back onto the small passage they were walking through. It reminded him of some of Hogwarts' secret passages, especially those on the ground floor and underneath. Sometimes, they were more of a crack in the mountain than actual passages made by the hands of men. He didn't really fancy getting lost here, even if he wasn't sure if that was possible. He'd focus.

Yeah right. Because a mad old wizard hadn't gone away on a sledge powered by rabbits with his injured friend on it, and because he hadn't left his other friend behind, to deal with a bunch of monsters. He could wish to focus, but it didn't mean he'd succeed.

Thorin Oakenshield, walking two dwarves ahead of him, turned around and looked at him. He seemed unhappy. Infuriated, even. Then again, when did he not?

“Child, we are not going back for your friend. He should have known better than to try and keep away the wargs.”

It was obvious Thorin considered Sirius to have asked for it, whatever “it” was. The other dwarves seemed ill-at-ease with their leader's decision, but not quite enough to protest. It wasn't surprising, given what Gandalf had told the teenagers about the bad blood between elves and dwarves.

The old wizard, who had been leading the company in the tunnel, suddenly turned around. His eyes swept over Bilbo, the dwarves, and James Potter. He couldn't see Sirius Black. Gandalf felt something grow cold in his stomach. He had figured everyone was here, considering no one had been making a fuss, but obviously he had been wrong.

Deadly so, perharps.

“Your friend didn't follow us?!?”

James grunted something under his breath and gave the dwarves in general and Thorin in particular a fierce glare.

“Sirius stayed behind to get rid of the orcs who had seen us get in here. He can take care of himself better than any of you thinks, thank you very much.”

An old dwarf huffed at that, but kept it at that. James didn't appreciate the underlying statement, though. His grip on his sword became more tight, and perhaps the blade moved upwards a bit more than necessary.

“You can be skeptical. None of you knows what he has lived through or who he is. You have no idea what he is capable of. He'll live. And maybe I'll tell him you didn't even have the slightest bit of respect for someone who could have died saving your sorry arses.”

The young man pushed his way through the passage, to the head of the group, so that he wouldn't have to look at these prejudiced dwarves. Some protested at being pushed around, but they could clearly see the teen was upset. No one dared to scoff, this time.

And so, James walked at the head of their company, with Bilbo, from that moment. The passage seemed long enough, and if sometimes they could see daylight high above their head, they still hadn't seen one hint that they may be reaching the end of the tunnel. Gandalf walked just behind the hobbit and the teenager, his staff providing a comfortable light where no daylight could reach.

Bilbo Baggins didn't like this adventure at all, so far. There had been one or two interesting moments, but that was it. Most of the time, it was only riding a poney he didn't have anymore, missing half the important meals, and eating poorly for the other half, sleeping in uncomfortable places... Half the dwares were unkind to him, and the other half didn't care much. And now, on top of that, he had almost been eaten by trolls, and had been hunted down by a group of warg riders. Also, he might have just witnessed the last standing moments of a teenaged elf.

Why had he let them talk him down into this madness?

The hobbit was growing tired of walking. He glanced at the brooding young man ahead of him, then back at the dwarves behind him, and quickly at Gandalf who didn't seem very happy with anything at the moment. He may have fidgetted a bit before he came to a decision.

Very low, very discreet, Bilbo's voice reached out to the teenager.

“Are you certain your friend will be alright?”

James paused for a moment, surprised by the question, then he remembered that even if the dwarves didn't seem to admit it, Sirius had participated in saving them from the trolls, only one day before. Saving the dwarves, and the hobbit too.

Apparently there was at least one person, beside Gandalf, in this company, who was not an ungrateful bastard.

Before his pause could impede their progression in the tunnel, James went back to walking.

“Alright, I don't know. But unless they brought reinforcements, he'd have dealt with them by now. Like me, Sirius comes from a powerful family, but unlike mine, his family mostly comprises of paranoid people who are taught how to defend themselves very young. The thing being, most of the time they are right to believe someone is after them. A simple attack like that? Sirius can take care of it.”

The teen's face was grim, but Bilbo could hear in his voice that he believed these words. There was worry in there too, but nonetheless, James Potter was absolutely certain his friend would come back alive.

Bilbo wondered what kind of elven family could be so certain they were on someone else's blacklist. What kind of family of elves taught their chidren, not only how to fight, but how to survive. Middle-Earth wasn't in times of war. It didn't seem like something the elves he had heard about would do.

Eventually they reached the end of the tunnel. A wonderful valley, with a fabulous town and a beautiful palace above, a singing river and many fields appeared to their eyes. Bilbo forgot everything about his difficult journey so far, as soon as he saw Rivendell, the Last Homely House East of the Sea.

James did not forget about Sirius or Remus, but the sight soothed his nerves a bit. He had to admit it was magnificent. Not in the same way as Hogwarts, but magnificent still. Whereas Hogwarts was imposing and wondrous, Rivendell was a beauty blending with the nature around. It seemed to James to be an incredible mix of light, antique style, and cathedrals.

Even the dwarves had nothing to say, unless they were called Thorin Oakenshied and could only bitch about how they hadn't wanted to come here, how he had been against coming here even. James personally thought the dwarf was a fool, considering if they hadn't gotten into the secret passage, they'd be fighting off a bunch of blood-thirsty orcs. But obviously, the leader of the dwarves'd rather have been turned to minced meat than to be here, in an elven dwelling.

Just looking at the other dwarves told the teenager they didn't quite agree. The oldest dwarf, and the youngest of them, especially Fili and Kili, if James remembered their names well, were even looking content enough. The teen was pleased to see not all dwarves were idiots.

The company walked down a rocky path that soon was made of dirt instead. During the ten following minutes, they crossed path with a few people, whom, if James had had to guess, were quite obviously elves. It wasnt difficult to determine, really. They all looked Sirius-ish.

Well, no.

They all looked incredibly handsome and beautiful, and so James guessed he should have labelled them “Black-ish”. Because the Blacks, even when they didn't look like each other too much, still looked like Blacks. Or, he could tell now, like elves. Physically harmonious, almost perfect, and distinctly not the same as “humans”, even if they seemed to be mostly like men and women. Perfect men and women.

Now James had a reason to resent Sirius. There was no way the guy could have been anything less than mind-blowing to the ladies, with his genes. Even his little brother Regulus, while not as attractive as Sirius, was supposedly “stunning”. James wouldn't tell his best friend what he had heard some fifth years slytherin girls say about the kid the other day. Never.

The elves looked at the travelers with a bit of tranquil surprise in their eyes, for the most part. They greeted Gandalf quietly, and the old wizard greeted them back with a smile. They didn't seem fazed much by the dwarves watching them warily. And they seemed curious as to what exactly was the halfling walking with them. James guessed most of them had never seen a hobbit before.

Not that he himself had, before ending up in this strange, medieval-ish world. And now, he wondered if they had running water...

A young girl ran from her mother, with whom she had been making flowers crowns, and to Gandalf.

“ _Mithrandir, Mithrandir_! _Ada_ is teaching me Westron! How do I do?”

The old wizard laughed as he picked her up.

“Good, very good! But if you want to speak the Common Tongue, child, you'll have to call me Gandalf instead.”

The girl pouted as he put her down, but even so she looked incredibly cute. Her mother was coming, a small smile on her lips as she gazed lovingly at her daughter. James had to keep a wince to himself. He didn't remember when he had last seen such a happy and pure moment back home, not since Voldemort was terrorizing Great Britain.

“I like _Mithrandir_ better.”

And, before the old wizard could say anything back to that, she had changed focus, just like any child could do. James really couldn't see a difference between her and another child. She was an elf, and he didn't think she had magic, but ultimately, they were the same, weren't them? All they wanted was to live their life in happiness.

“Can you do a magic trick? Can you?”

For a moment, Gandalf seemed to consider. The mother sighed and took her child in her arm.

“Sorry for her behavior, Mithrandir, but you know how children are...”

“It is no problem. I would have done it, but I have a better idea.”

The wizard turned around and looked pointedly at James, who turned around too, just in case someone was standing behind him. Which wasn't the case, obviously. He just felt he had to make sure. The dwarves and Bilbo looked puzzled.

Gandalf arched two very bushy eyebrows at him.

“The young mister Potter has a few tricks up his sleeves, too.”

The little girl seemed delighted, and James could have sworn his face had just turned slightly grey. He only had his wand, and in this world it seemed almost useless. And what was he supposed to do, exactly? Entertaining seven years old who could actually very well be his age despite their looks wasn't something he was an expert at.

James could hear whispers coming from the dwarves, behind him, but he paid them no mind. He didn't care about their opinion, anyway, and Gandalf seemed to think it was safe to tell the people about his magic, so...

The elven mother was only looking mildly surprised, too. Probably because, as the old wizard had said, magic practitionners were scarce in this world. There was no doubt, no hostility in her eyes.

“I have? I mean, I don't have my...”

Staff. Or, more accurately, he didn't have a staff at all.

Gandalf laughed a bit, but it didn't seem to deter him. And this girl, who was looking at the teenager with big eyes... What was James supposed to do, now?

“Obviously you don't. But I trust you have a few tricks you can perfom without a staff, don't you?”

Oh, well. Maybe there was that. He had practiced a few wandless charms this year, and anything that was supposed to affect him totally didn't actually need a wand. Sirius had told him his youngest cousin had turned out to be a metamorphmagus, recently. James envied the girl, right now.

“I'll try...”

James kneeled down for the child to see better, encouraged by the look of pure wonder in her eyes. He cupped thin air into an imaginary ball with his hands. He focused. For once he was happy to have chosen Chants as an option together with Sirius instead of Care for the Magical Creatures. The teacher was old, there was a rumor no one would be there to take over when the man would retire...

James recited sentences in latin under his breath, humming a bit, perhaps. Chants weren't really useful in combat, because they were way too long to use, but there were a bunch of other things you could do with them. From what he knew, apprentice Healers who had studied this subject had a better chance of graduating.

After a dozen of seconds, a small blue light was born between his hands. The elven girl's eyes grew wider than ever, and James heard a small gasp fom behind him. He couldn't keep a smirk off his lips at the thought of the surprised dwarves. Gandalf seemed amused by all this too, speaking quietly with the elven woman.

“It's a small blue light!”

The girl had almost squealed. The “almost” being the same as Sirius' “almost”. All these times when his best friend should have sounded ridiculous, but hadn't, because, come on, he was Sirius Black. James called that the I'm-too-fabulous-to-act-like-a-normal-human-being. Only now did he realize how accurate it was.

James smiled at the girl, and the light grew just a little stronger.

“Do you want it to be something else?”

The child nodded in enthusiasm.

The teen focused back on his chant, changing a few words along the way. Slowly, enchantingly, the light morphed into something else. By the time he was finished, a beautiful butterfly of blue light was flying around in his hands.

The last words of the chant were muted into silence, and James drew back his hands. The butterfly flittered a bit, before finally lending on the elf's dark hair. The girl tried to touch it, and it immediately flew away. But as soon as she put her hand down, the butterfly came back.

“It should last for a few hours.”

The girl looked at him with sparkles in her eyes.

“Thank you!”

Her mother came and took her in her arms. She watched the blue butterfly in wonder for a while, before smiling warmly at James. She then suggested to go and show the magic trick to her daughter's friends. Mother and child waved at them as the company started walking again.

Just as they reached a thin brigde of stone, Bilbo tugged at the witch teen's sleeve.

“Is that why you aren't worried about your elf friend? He has it too?”

“Magic? Sirius is at least twice as powerful as anyone our age I know, depending on the person. But it's only part of the reason why I trust him to stay alive.”

There was a moment of silence, and James added:

“Of course, Remus can do magic too.”

Bilbo didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't everyday that someone like him traveled with not only one, but four magic users. You could say he was surprised.

An elf was waiting for them on the other side of the bridge, announcing the lord of the place was out, but should come back soon. Almost as he finished talking, James heard the sound of hooves battling the ground from the other side of the valley. He turned around, and saw two riders in warriors armors cross the bridge. Behind one of them was Sirius, riding with a painful wince on his face.

James didn't really listen to Thorin's speech about how he didn't want the elves' hospitality, and would rather sleep in the woods, again, or something like that. The teenager had already reached the conclusion that the regal-looking dwarf was a pain in the arse. He wasn't yet sure if Thorin was a fool on top of that, but for the time being it looked like it.

Instead, he fought his way out of the assembled dwarves, which wasn't that difficult considering the wide berth they were giving him now that they knew about his magic abilities. Sirius was riding behind a golden haired elf, who had gotten down his horse, and was now trying to help James' best friend get down too.

James' eyes flickered down to the bandaged injury on Sirius' leg, and went to help the elf. Considering his friend didn't have a torn-up leg or something, he guessed one of the orcs had managed to injure Padfoot with their blades or an arrow. It could have been worse. James sure as hell didn't think a warg's saliva would have been hygienic.

“Honestly, Sirius...”

The other teen gave him a glare.

“I'm alive, am I not? So leave me alone, Prongs.”

James gritted his teeth, but replied nothing back. Still, he offered to support Sirius as he'd limp during the next days. Sirius rolled his eyes, unsurprisingly, and accepted the help. For now.

Glorfindel observed the two youngsters. He could tell they were close friends, and trusted each other. Considering what he had seen of Sirius Black so far, it surprised him a bit, but it also relieved him. The young elf wasn't completely out of reach, not to everyone, it seemed.

Someone had come to lead the reluctant dwarves to the guest rooms, and Lord Elrond turned around from his infuriating guests, as calm as ever. The patience of that elf lord had always been praiseworthy. With Thorin and his company, he would need it.

Elrond watched the two youngsters, the elf and the man, and remembered the third one, as he had seen him a bit less than two hours ago, on Radagast's sledge. They were all wearing these strange pants of blue clothe, with knitted tops of incredible colors. The Half-elven wasn't sure he had ever seen dyed wool as red as the mortal boy's, or a woollen top such a deep black as Sirius Black's, with gold threads in it, nothing less. And the first boy he had seen had been wearing a sky blue fabric that Elrond could have sworn was shimering with sunlight.

He truly had no idea where Gandalf had found those three, but he had a feeling it would be an interesting story. Maybe for later.

Erestor joined his Lord, having just come back from the House of Healing, where he had led Remus Lupin after Radagast had left the teenager with them.

“Erestor, this young elf has been wounded by an orc's arrow. We took care of what we could out there, but I would appreciate if he were to go to the House of Healing and the healers got a look at it. We never really know what these beasts put on their weapons...”

Erestor flinched a bit as he remembered one particular time when he had been hurt during battle, eons ago. Whatever their enemies had put on their blades, it had made him sick for about two whole weeks. Orcs didn't always poison their arrows, but when they did...

The counselor turned his attention back onto the wounded, and was surprised to see an elf he did not know, not even by sight. The features of the youngster reminded him of someone, but... Then Erestor recognized the eyes, and forgot all about the face. He merely assumed that the young one looked like one of his ancestors, that he would have briefly met at some point of his long life.

The elf blinked, and yes, the eyes were still there, and that exact color.

Erestor turned to look at his Lord, slightly disbelieving.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“It looks like it, if anything.”

“But... What is he doing here?”

Elrond laughed silently, and walked to the youngsters.

“That, Erestor, I think only him, his friends, or Mithrandir could tell. Ask them, if you want.”

Meaning, he wasn't going to get a straight answer before... long.

Erestor's thoughts jumped back onto what he had been thinking about before the start of this conversation. His face palled a bit, and he hurried to follow Lord Elrond and the youngsters to the House of Healing, where they would see their third friend.

The counselor really thought he needed to warn his Lord, before the Half-elven could see the state Remus John Lupin was in. Lord Elrond was used to worse, much worse, but on a teenager... It was always different than when it concerned a warrior.

This person had not had an easy life, that much he could tell only by looking. Erestor only wondered if it had been only accidents, or willing injuries. Somehow, with this many scars...

 


	8. As if in plea

Remus opened an eye as he heard someone walk in. The healer had left a few minutes ago, to let him rest, apparently, and he wasn't expecting anyone to visit. It wasn't as if he knew someone here, after all.

Maybe someone had gotten hurt? It wasn't his room, but a House of Healing. The infirmary, in other words. It would be normal for someone else to come here. And Remus was used to be in such places with other people. The infirmary at Hogwarts, St. Mungo's occasionally... He spent much time in such paces, really.

But it wasn't just a ramdon stranger who walked in. The stranger wasn't a stranger, and he had the less random mess of black hair in the world, so even if he tried, Remus wouldn't be able to mistake him for someone else.

James had arrived in one piece to Imladris, then. Good. Sirius should be just behind...

Remus got up on his elbows and was about to greet his best friend back, but noticed that James had his back to him, and that an arm leaned on his shoulders. An arm clad in black knitted wool. In other words, Sirius' arm.

So, James was coming in the House of Healing, supporting Sirius. Which probably meant Sirius was hurt too. Which meant it hadn't gone all that well with the orcs.

Remus tried to calm down. Sirius may be hurt, perhaps even wounded, and he wasn't able to walk on his own, but he was able to walk. It couldn't be too serious. For all the werewolf knew, his friend had just been hit on the head a bit too hard. Which would be fine, because Sirius had a really hard head.

The healer was following just behind his two friends, and in less than a minute, Sirius was lying on a bed, a scowl etched on his face at the request to stay put. The elven healer undid the quick bandage around his leg, and Remus got a look at his friend's wound. It wasn't big, but it did seem profound. If he had to venture a guess, he'd say an arrow wound...

James told him it was just that, after having told him about Sirius' reckless stupidity with the orcs. Remus really didn't know why it still surprised James, that their best friend would do just that. Sirius could get himself out of about any situation, as long as it wasn't completely desesperate, and so he tended to dismiss the less lethal risks. It wasn't so much stupidity, though, as a lack of concern in front of self-sacrifice.

The worst being that, as Sirius was doing that to help, and as he always got out mostly well, it was very difficult to try and make him change. It's difficult to reprimand a guy who did everything out of good intentions and with results.

Still, one day, James and Remus should muster up the courage to try and talk their friend out of this habit.

Now was not the day, though.

“How was the trip to Imladris, Remus?”

The werewolf was startled out of his thoughts at Sirius' question. He didn't answer right away.

“Turbulent.”

Two people entered the House of Healing at that moment, and Remus didn't say anything else. He was busy watching the two, one he recognized to be Erestor, Chief Counsellor of Imladris. He had been the one to welcome Radagast and Remus when the wizard's sledge had reached the elven town.

The other one looked like an elf, sure, and Remus berated himself, because it was obvious in such a place. But there was something a bit different from the others about him, something that made him feel closer to Sirius than to the healer or Erestor, for exemple. He just didn't have the same presence to the werewolf.

The stranger took a moment to look calmly at the three teenagers. Then he smiled sightly.

“I am Lord Elrond, master of this place, and healer during my spare time. I hope your stay within our walls will be pleasant enough, and that you will heal in peace. But for that, I need to know what there is to heal. I have already seen Sirius' injury, and you, James Potter, you seem to be well enough, but I have not yet seen you, Remus Lupin. A sprained ankle, is that it?”

The left corner of Remus' mouth tilted a bit, as he thought back to all the injuries that were barely healed, but he said nothing. The other healer had already seen to his needs, and Madam Pomfrey had seen to his latest set of wounds, anyway. Only his ankle was relevant right now. Nothing else.

“Your healer already saw to it, Lord Elr...”

“Just show him, Remus. It's not like he won't hear about it at one point or another.”

Remus stared at Sirius while faced with this shocking intervention for a good time. He tried to decide if his anger with his friend was, or wasn't, stronger than his astonishment at Sirius' newfound openness. Then again, it wasn't about sharing Sirius' secrets here, but Remus'. Perhaps that made the other teen less secretive.

James almost swatted Sirius on the head, still, and Remus surprised himself by thinking that his friend would have deserved it.

“You can't just decide for Moony, Sirius!”

The newly elven teenager glared darkly at James.

“I wasn't talking about that, Prongs. I was talking about his general health, you know, like the gashes and the bruises and the old wounds. It's possible that all this effort countered Madam Pomfrey's work or something. She did tell him to take it easy for a few days, like she always does, you know? And today was not what I'd call taking it easy. I'd rather our friend didn't suddenly start bleeding all over my breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Remus snorted at the last image, because it allowed him not to think about Madam Pomfrey's warnings.

He knew all too well that it was best to keep the mayhem to its laziest form during the three first days following the full moon, and not only because he was tired. In second year, after November's full moon, Peter and Sirius had convinced him to take a stroll through the castle, and they had encountered Mulciber on the way. The Slytherin had not been kind, and Remus had had to jump to the side to evade a nasty spell. And because the healing potions hadn't completely worked their magic, internally at least, yet, Remus had ended up with a renewed large bruise where his arm had been knocked against the nearest wall, and where the transformation had left him worse for wear in the first place. The shock had countered the effects of the potions.

And that had hurt enough that he had made sure to keep calm during the first days of recovery the following times. Until now, obviously. Then again, it was the first time Remus was transported into another world just after a full moon; the teen was pretty sure it gave him the right to plead special circumstances for his agitated behavior.

It wasn't his fault that he had ended up in a situation where he had had no choice but to be agitated.

His body, on the other hand, didn't share that opinion. Faulty attitude or special circumstances, it still seemed to hold Remus responsible for the state it was being put in.

In other words, Remus could feel that slow, dull pain that said not only his body was exhausted, but also that the wounds, even as knotted back together as they had been, were about to rip apart.

Remus looked one last time at everyone in the room, slowly, carefully, already regretting his decision.

But it wasn't as if most of them didn't know that already, was it?

He sat up in his bed, and painfully removed the white piece of clothing the healer had given him after his first inspection.

James and Sirius were used to the sight of his scars, so their lack of shocked reactions was a given. As always, James gave him a concerned look, but nothing more than that. And Sirius, obviously, didn't move a lash; it took more than that to make him react at all, like, an actual open wound with blood and things to worry about. A closed wound that left only a souvenir wasn't worth his worry.

Remus gulped, about to say a lie that he did serve to anyone who saw but didn't know.

Like, the one lie no one ever believed, but the only one that did make a bit of sense without scaring the hell out of the other people.

“I... I'm accident prone.”

He gave the elves in the room a cramped look. To their credit, they didn't stare or give him looks of pity. They weren't morbidly curious, either. They just watched, and saw. There was some compassion in their eyes, but it didn't make him feel ashamed or pitied. Remus wasn't even sure when was the last time he hadn't felt ashamed or pitied as someone saw his wounds. It didn't matter if it was the other Marauders, Madam Pomfrey, his parents or a healer at St. Mungo's; Remus always felt ashamed, even more so when the people didn't judge him because of these wounds. It felt like he didn't deserve their attention.

With these elves, it almost felt as if they were looking at just any scar, and not at his especially. Almost, because thinking about it, of course, triggered the same good old feelings.

Remus tightened his hold over the clothes, against his chest, without thinking.

“And I fell down a few days ago. The nurse at school took care of it, but it's possible that all this... agitation messed with her medecine. I don't know. Perhaps...”

He didn't manage to say more.

Elrond waited a moment for a possible continuation, but nothing came. The Half-elven looked at each of the teenagers, and sighed.

“Accident prone” was rarely a true explanation to this many wounds, he knew that from his time amongst men. Elrond doubted that Erestor and the healer even had a remote idea of what it could truly mean, though. If such extreme parental behaviour was rare enough amongst men, thanks  Ilúvatar for that, it was almost non-existent amongst the First borns.

But when Elrond looked at the young Remus Lupin, he didn't see the usual tells of abuse. Yes, the teen was ashamed of himself, and of his wounds, and he didn't seem to think taking care of him was worth their time, but he wasn't recoiling at the nearby presence. If the Half-elven had to take a guess, he'd say it was more complicated than abusive parents. It had more to do with a medical condition, perhaps.

Not quite “accident prone”, but something close. Something that'd explain why Remus Lupin would suffer from repetitive harm. Maybe a weak body, a condition that'd make it easier, faster for him to bruise, for a wound to appear. It would explain why he didn't seem to think his problems were worth their time, if it always came back no matter what was done to treat them. An illness, perhaps, that couldn't be cured. It'd make sense with the way the teen was apparently disgusted with himself.

Elrond didn't like to see that look on the boy's face, but what could he do, except making sure that these wounds, if anything, were taken care of correctly?

The Lord of Imladris' eyes fell on Remus Lupin's two friends. James Potter seemed really concerned by his friend's health, and he obviously knew what was going on. As for Sirius, the youngster hadn't even blinked, and just for a second, Elrond forgot about the other teen, worried about what exactly this one had seen so far, for him to be this unresponsive.

But Elrond focused back on Remus Lupin. The teenager was the one in need of medical care, right now.

Erestor pushed the two other youngsters out of the House of Healing, with promises that yes, Remus was going to be well looked after, but perhaps their friend would feel better if they weren't standing guard while he was being examined?

James still tried to get back in, though.

Sirius, him, just rolled his eyes, and left his best friend to worry and to bite his nails next to the door. He wasn't in the mood to worry, not with his own wound, and he really felt like staying alone for now. It had been a long time since the last he had been taken by such a feeling.

It was like this place, Imladris, or even this whole world was getting to him, in a way.

Sirius felt so much at home that it unnerved him. The elves were too kind, without being pushy, Gandalf was too wise, without being unreachable, the dwarves were too blunt, without being too bad... Or, most of them, at least. Sirius could see the flaws in this world, just like in his world, but it just didn't feel the same. They didn't feel like flaws, but more like things that didn't belong here and had invited themselves over.

Sirius, him, felt like he belonged. As much as back home. It scared him.

He walked in the gardens of Imladris for a moment, in silence. His leg hurt, but he still walked. There were times when he'd have sat down, and just stayed there, but there were people around, and Sirius wanted to be alone.

Even if the elves were welcoming, without being all over him. He could feel the curiosity in their eyes, as they watched him, the stranger youth who still was one of them, sort of. He knew they wouldn't pry to know where he came from, who his family was. He could tell, somehow, that they wouldn't speak of anything that could unnerve him. It was like they could see what would trigger unease, and it was like he just knew that they could see that.

Sirius wanted to be alone for a few hours, though. It wasn't that he didn't trust the elves, but there was simply nothing that wouldn't spark unease in him right now. He wouldn't be able to talk, even if he wanted to.

After about half an hour, the teen found a place where no one else was visible. He stopped there, hesitant, before settling down. He was tired, and his leg hurt.

Just like that, sitting in the grass. His back leaning on a tree, his hand lingering at the surface of the natural water pool. His eyes on the blue sky. No thoughts in his head, for once.

It almost felt like sleeping, Sirius decided. There wasn't much going on in his head, unlike usual, or what was going on, he had tuned out. He wasn't listening. He was just tired, and if his eyes weren't closed, he still was barely hanging on. He felt like sleeping, but he didn't sleep.

Perhaps, he thought, this was all a dream. Perhaps the Black family gem was indeed cursed, and he was sleeping, dreaming all this. After all, who in the wizarding community had ever ended up in another world? People ended up in pieces when they tried potion making but failed, or worse. People ended up barmy with their new spells. People ended up at St. Mungo's if their spellwork lacked just that one wrong time. But they didn't end up in a parallel world.

Not that he'd know, if they never came back. There was a bunch of people who had just disappeared, like, poof! and gone, while experimenting. Makeshift floo powder, time travel, and a few other kinds of magical attempts had resulted in disappearances over the centuries...

But, still, Sirius could very well be dreaming right now.

Who'd believe they were in another world, Remus, James, and him? Who?

Time passed, and before Sirius knew it, the sun was coming down again. He didn't exactly notice, though his brain registered that the world was becoming darker.

It wasn't night, yet.

Sirius leaned above the clear water of the pool, thinking about nothing in particular, nothing other than, Why not?

It was the first time he saw a reflection of himself since he had arrived on Arda, he realized. And he really had pointy ears, like Elrond, Glorfindel, and the other elves. Other than that, it seemed that he really shone a little. Nothing ostentatious, but nonetheless, it was weird. With the dimming light, he could still see his reflection perfectly in the water.

That aside, Sirius noted, he was exactly the same as he had been as a human. Same jaw, same skin tone, same silver eyes. He did truly look like an elf, with or without the ears, he guessed.

It was weird to think that, at some point, an elven ancestor of his had gotten the hell out of Dodge, to come to his world. It was weird to think that one of his ancestors was an elf. It was weird to think that there had been someone, out there, who had looked just like him, if Radagast the Bown was to be believed...

The tips of his fingers fell in the water. It was a bit cold. He didn't mind.

Sirius' thoughts eventually wandered to his family. Here, all the elves were seemingly perfect, or almost perfect. Back home, it's was more like the Blacks had only kept the good looks. There were good Blacks, obviously, but in general, they weren't the gentlest family around. What had happened? How had an elf given life to such a twisted line of individuals?

Sirius had no illusion whatsoever, not even about himself. He was far from perfect, just like the rest of his family. Perhaps he was a bit less odious in his ways and his beliefs, but deep down, when it came to the core of his being...

If elves were of a soft perfection, the Blacks, him included, were more like ice statues. Beautiful, but frozen at heart, and sharp at the edges when broken down.

Regulus, Sirius, Narcissa, Andromeda, Bellatrix... Walburga, Orion, Cygnus, Alphard, and the others. The olders Blacks, the ones who had died, the ones who had been dead for some time already... They all came from that on elf, and yet, there either was something rotten in them, or they were simply bad.

Why?

A filament of silver light swirled down Sirius' hands, and plunged in the water pool. Surprised, the teen removed his hand quickly, but not before another volute, shadowed this time, dived right after the first.

It occurred to him that it was probably his magic, as it was in this world, that had simply been triggered by his focusing. For all that, Sirius still got up, took a step back, without lifting his eyes off the water for a second. He knew his magic, after all, and it tended to do nasty things when left unchecked. Not always, but often enough for him to want to take a step back, just in case.

The surface of the water started to trouble. The teen coud see shapes and colors appear for a second, leaving him with the distinct impression that his magic was searching for something within his memory. The shapes did look like faces. He was almost certain he had recognized Narcissa and Alphard at some point, even if they had disappeared almost as fast as they had appeared.

Then it stopped. The water, on the other hand, started to glow in silver, and to darken into black in the middle of the pool. Sirius took another step back, and found a tree behind him, that prevented him from retreating any more.

Slowly, painfully, a watery figure rose from the pool, her eyes locked on his. She had a hand reaching for Sirius, as if in plea. At first her features were blurred, uncertain, but the magic defined her more and more, and her face became easy to recognize. The water became more colored as time passed, and before long the teenager standing there didn't seem to be made of water anymore, if yet a bit unreal.

She had the infamous Black looks; long, straight, black hair; a slightly squared jaw; silver eyes; pale skin; arched eyebrows. She looked much like Bellatrix. And even more like Sirius.

The teenager didn't need to see her face to know who she was.

He paled visibly, but didn't flinch. He wanted to, though. But despite everything, despite what linked them together, the girl wasn't looking at him wrongly. Her eyes seemed filled with compassion, and perhaps grief. She didn't try to speak but it was obvious that she wanted to.

She was no more than an image; she couldn't speak.

Sirius would have liked it better if he had seen anger in her eyes.

It'd have hurt, but he'd have liked it better. She had a right to treat him as if he was the worst. Even if she would never be able to do that. Not with what their link had done to her.

The magic ran out, and the water fell back down in the pool. Sirius didn't move, his back against the tree. He could feel himself breathe, he could tell that he was alive, but to him it was as if she was still here, watching him, asking him to stop. He wasn't sure he wanted to be alive.

“Your friends are waiting for you, Sirius.”

The voice made him jump out of his trance.

Sirius turned around, and saw Lord Elrond standing there, just a few feet away. There was no asking if the Half-elven had seen the display of magic, and yet his face betrayed nothing. Sirius liked it better that way. He didn't deserve concern.

The youth schooled his features, and nodded to his host.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to stay out there for so long.”

Elrond smiled kindly, and gestured to the pond.

“Gandalf asked if I would be pleased to help with a few magic lessons. I see he was talking about you. Impressive display, if not of control, at least of power.”

Sirius chose to ignore that last part, not because it was wrong, but because he'd rather not explain.

“What about James and Remus?”

“Gandalf will handle them. Men have another brand of power, and other ways to use it.”

Elrond hesitated for a moment, as they were about to leave. Eventually, he still said what he had to, even if he managed not to ask any question.

“She looked much like you, Sirius.”

Sirius chose that moment to start walking back. He didn't look at the elf lord when the words came.

“The Blacks never have twins. They can not have twins. Not in two millenia and a half.”

 


End file.
